


Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder

by LittleSammy



Category: NCIS
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-26
Updated: 2012-04-26
Packaged: 2017-11-04 08:59:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 39,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/392066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleSammy/pseuds/LittleSammy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It all starts out with Ziva picking up Tony in the hospital and Tony being still vulnerable and both of them slipping up, a bit. Starts with "Nature of the Beast" and progresses along the first half of season 9, so - naturally - spoilers coming up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder

**Author's Note:**

> Set towards the end of 9x01, so yes, spoilers for that episode. This will be the first chapter of something I will try to string along the episodes, much like I did with "Blood", except that this one, in all likelihood, will turn out a lot more fluffy and flirty. (It's just this first chapter that holds a little angst and anger. I blame that on the Ziva GG has given me in that episode.) The next two chapters are already planned, but I can't give a time frame for when I'll be able to write, let alone post them. There is also no way of knowing yet how long this will be. We'll see how the series works with me. ;) So far this is safe for work, but that rating may be adjusted over time. ;)

He turns his head before the door to his room actually opens, and Rachel's gaze is suddenly heavy on him, like she's trying to figure out how he did that. She doesn't ask out loud, though, so he doesn't have to explain, and that's good because he can't. It's just this thing they do.

Ziva stands in the doorway for a second, frozen, just staring at him. Her lips, pressed together tightly, form a thin line, and he wants to reach out and touch her mouth and smooth out the tenseness with the pad of his thumb. (God, his brain is even more rattled than he'd thought if he has urges like that all of a sudden.) Then the moment passes, and Ziva takes a strained little breath, steps into the room and closes the door behind her.

He watches her carefully and waits for her to say something, but it doesn't look like she's ready to do any talking just yet. She's still silent while she throws a sports bag on the bed. Even with his jumbled memory he recognizes it. He forgot it in her trunk that one night they'd gone jogging, two months ago. And he never got around to picking it up because the next day he was already gone.

Rachel shoots him another curious glance, and he sees how her brows furrow, but he can't concentrate on that now, he's too busy with focusing on his partner. He still sees how she turns her eyes towards Ziva, though, and yeah, he has noticed before how Rachel seems weirdly... protective, when it comes to him. Maybe it's showing even more now because Ziva still looks at him like she wants to strangle him with her bare hands.

He's pretty sure Ziva isn't even aware of the rollercoaster of emotions her face shows him right now. Usually, she's a lot better at pokerfacing him, but tonight her expression is all over the place, and he can't figure out what it means. Besides, thinking is still hard.

"Get dressed," she finally says, and that's when her face closes down after all. "I'll take you home."

_'Drive,'_ he wants to correct her, because there's no way in hell she'll take him home the way he'd like her to right now -- the way that would end with her arms around him and his head in her lap and then, maybe, some letting go of... things. But he can't even form a complete thought out of these whirling impressions of want and need, much less voice them, and so he just keeps staring at her.

And Rachel, who still keeps a tight watch on him, chooses that moment to interfere. "I think we should wait for Gibbs."

Ziva's eyes never leave his face, and for a moment he thinks she'll ignore the comment altogether. Then she says, "Gibbs has a lead to check out." Her voice is strangely tight, as if she tries very hard to keep whatever goes on in her head carefully hidden from either of them. "That's why he called me."

Rachel takes a step forward, and out of the corner of his eye Tony sees something flash across her face. Faint traces of annoyance, mixed with a hint of suspicion.

"He wants to punish me," he throws in with a crooked grin, and for some reason that takes some of the nervous tension out of his partner's stance. She even gives him a tiny baby smile in return.

"It is possible," she replies, and there's the slightest touch of affection in her voice all of a sudden. He's not sure she even notices it herself, but he does, and it shocks the hell out of him. He stares at her, dumbfounded, speechless, until Rachel clears her throat.

"Well," she says and carefully puts her half-empty cup of coffee down on the windowsill. "Guess that means I can go home and get some sleep." She grimaces and glances at the coffee. "At least I can try."

There's no reply from either of them, and after a moment Rachel shakes her head slightly. Tony feels vaguely sorry about that, and he even makes a mental note to call her later and apologize. Right now, he can't, though, he's still busy with holding Ziva's stare and trying to get through the anger he sees in her eyes. And oh yes, she's angry, he can see that one clearly. He just isn't sure why.

This is when Rachel does leave the room, finally. She doesn't waste any more words on the two people lost in their own thing, she just starts moving, and some part of Tony's rattled brain thinks it's interesting how she carefully steps around Ziva, not interrupting their eye wrestling.

And then, just like that, they're alone.

The silence grows heavy for a few more seconds, and he feels close to bursting with tension when Ziva finally takes a deep breath. A soft shudder runs through her, and that's when she breaks eye contact and gives him a quick once-over to make sure he's okay. He is, mostly, except for his heart, and that's easily hidden. But she still stares at the bruise on his temple, and there's a weird expression on her face suddenly. Like she's the one beaten up here.

"Get dressed," she repeats. Her voice is the slightest bit shaky, and to his own surprise he finds that it kills him to hear her like that -- worried.

This time he obeys the command and reaches for the hem of his hospital gown, but before he lifts it, his brain kicks back in and he blinks. A crooked smile twists his mouth. If it looks like it feels, he's pretty sure it doesn't speak of humor, but of him no longer being used to the expression. "Do I get some privacy?"

She gives that thought some consideration, then tilts her head and asks, "Are you naked under there?"

For a moment he's tempted to say yes, just to mess with her, but in the end he's too tired to try her patience tonight, and so he just shakes his head.

"Then no," she says, and it looks weird because she nods firmly while she says it. "I'm not letting you out of my sight again."

His throat is tight suddenly, and he feels, in parts, as numb as his painkiller-flooded body. (They're a gift of God, really. Except they sometimes make him careless, just like now, when he keeps holding Ziva's gaze while he strips out of the hospital gown.)

He moves slowly, and her vaguely annoyed expression says she thinks it's because he wants to tease her, to distract her from her anger. But then he's down to his boxers, and her face is suddenly pale while she stares at the angry bruise on his chest.

It's the size of his palm and already a dark purple, and he grimaces when he thinks about how it will look in a day or two. It's too bad the damn kevlar only took the bullet and not the force of the impact.

Ziva's stare is glued to his chest now, and there's something going on in her face again. It's weird, but for some reason it makes him straighten his back and look at her with his jaw all tense and his chin raised. Like he _wants_ her to get a good look.

She's quiet, stares at the mark of the bullet's impact, and her eyes widen a bit more. He can see the exact moment where she realizes how close to the edge of the vest the bullet actually hit him. How lucky he was.

"Do you need help?" she asks eventually, and her voice is weirdly shaky and too soft. It makes him want to curl up in her lap, again, and it's really too bad that'll never happen.

"I'm good," he lies and opens the sports bag, treasuring the relief of not having to meet her eyes for a moment. 

He gets distracted by how soft his old OSU sweater feels, and before he can control the impulse he brings it up to his nose. It confirms that she washed it for him. Recently.

Her head is turned to the side when he looks at her in vague surprise. The wall seems to hold all her attention now, but he knows she noticed his look because she shrugs. It's a slightly awkward gesture. 

"I figured you'd need it at one point," she says. Her voice still sounds strange, and he desperately wants to ask what's going on with her right now. But he doesn't, of course. It's the same old fucked-up thing they have, this mix of seeming privacy and emotional self-preservation and behavioral rituals. They've always had that between them, bringing them closer at the most unexpected moments, but most of the time keeping them apart rather effectively.

He moves slowly, and he can tell she's still watching him out of the corner of her eye. The pants work out fine, but he almost asks for help after all when it comes to the sweater. Getting his arms up high enough to pull it over his head hurts like hell, and he breaks into cold sweat before he's finished. Ziva's mouth does that strange tension thing again, and he can see she wants to say something. He's just not sure what.

He breathes out slowly when he's done, and while he's still busy staring down at the sheets and getting a grip, Ziva suddenly cracks, and he has no idea how that happened. If it was something he did.

"I was worried," she presses out, and he stares at her, fidgeting while he tries to figure out if that's just a reflection shining in her eyes. 

"You know me," he says eventually, because the mere idea that she could start crying over him right here, right now, freaks him out badly. "I'm worse than weed. I always muddle through."

Her eyes narrow at that. She turns towards him, and before he can say something that would really reassure her, she crosses the distance between them and hits her fist against his bruised shoulder. He winces because it's not hard enough to do more damage, but it sure as hell is more than enough to get his attention.

"No," she hisses, and he can tell she wants to grab him and shake him right now, probably just as badly as he wants to grab her and cling to her. "I don't know you. I didn't even know you were _alive,_ you idiot."

Her voice is choked, and Tony blinks and stares at her and tries to make sense of the barely throttled emotion in her words. "Gibbs knew," he says, as if that justifies everything. But it doesn't. It only brings up more agitation in Ziva.

"Well, he certainly didn't tell me. And you never answered my emails, so how could I--" She bites back the next word and takes a deep breath, as if she had just reminded herself that this isn't the kind of thing they usually say to each other. Then she turns her head away sharply, and he feels stupid again, like there's something he missed the whole time even while it was slapping him in the face hard.

_'You wrote me,'_ he wants to say. Wants to, but in the end he's glad he doesn't get the words out because he's not sure how embarrassing they would sound. He's torn between awe and excitement and something else fluttering in his stomach. Something that isn't the best thing to feel in his current state of rattled mind.

Then Ziva shakes her head and moves to the box with his stuff that Gibbs brought in earlier. "Let's get you home," she says while she grabs the clothes he was shot in and stuffs them into the sports bag. 

He watches her quietly while she zips up the bag. He isn't even aware that he reaches out to touch her elbow while he does it, but when she suddenly freezes in mid-movement, he has to fight the urge to snatch his hand back as if he burned it. And that's when he slips up and doesn't tell her what is on his mind, but rather what's on his heart.

"I guess it sucks having two guys not answer your emails."

She blinks, and her lips part. "Just one, actually," she says when she's done searching for words. 

Tony's throat tightens, and yeah, he should have guessed it, sort of, but it still doesn't feel too good to know Ray's back in her life. "So his assignment is over?" he forces himself to say. His fingers still cling to her elbow, and it's weird that he can't seem to let go. "Or did he break radio silence after all?"

She's quiet for too long, and he wonders what that means. She's thinking hard, he can feel it, can see it in the tension that keeps her back straight and her shoulders tight.

"Neither," she replies after what feels like a minor eternity. "I stopped writing him."

"Why?" He can't help the question. He knows it's none of his business, that she probably has good reasons and heck, even if she doesn't, it's good enough for him. But there's still that curious part of his mind that wants to know, and so he keeps touching her and keeps waiting for an answer he's not sure he'll get.

She shrugs eventually and tries to be casual, and while his hand falls away from her arm after all and she picks up his bag, she says, "I just realized I didn't miss him as m--"

And she freezes again, both in words and posture. It's just a minute tension rippling through her, then she's all back to business and striding out of the room. But Tony heard it and saw it, and he's not exactly sure he got it right, but he could swear she was just about to say something she hadn't planned on letting slip.

*** *** ***

"I never logged on while I was doing my job," he says when he's sitting beside her in the car. He's not exactly sure why. He just feels the sudden need to state that he didn't even know she tried to contact him.

He's not sure he could have replied even if he had known. Maybe it would have only made some things harder for him. But the truth is, he didn't mean to hurt her. He just didn't know.

For two blocks, she's as tightly wound as she was in that hospital room. Then she breathes out and says "I know" and actually stops at a red light while Tony turns his head in confusion.

"How?" he asks, and he's not sure if that's a blush on her cheeks or the remnants of the red light.

"I forced McGee to check," she says and turns left.

*** *** ***

She's not amused when he tells her he needs to pick up some stuff first before he can go home, but he doesn't cave. He doesn't feel comfortable with leaving his files and surveillance reports in the dinky apartment. They're probably safe there, since not even SecNav knows about the place, but he can't fight the feeling that he needs to close this chapter of his life as soon as possible, and retrieving his files and delivering his final report first thing in the morning -- that's part of his own need for closure.

"Okay," Ziva sighs after she gets a good look at his face. Then she asks him where to, and when he doesn't reply right away, lost in his whirling thoughts, she turns her head and frowns at him and says, "I swear, if you were hiding in Gibbs's basement all that time--"

"No," he interrupts her while he keeps looking out of the window, just so he doesn't have to meet her eyes. _Too dangerous to stay with any of you._ He wants to say it out loud, and he knows she wants to ask for more, but in the end he just tells her the address and she just drives on.

*** *** ***

She closes the door of the apartment behind her and leans against it, her palms pressed against the smooth surface. Her eyes dart all over the place, and he's glad there isn't any trash to hide, just a lot of paperwork spread out all over the table and a bunch of surveillance photos. He breathes out and walks across the room to collect them.

Ziva's eyes come to rest on his back again, and that brings the itching weight of her gaze back, too. She takes a few tentative steps into the apartment, just enough so she can glance into the bathroom and the tiny bedroom that's barely big enough for a single bed. "You spent two months here?" she asks, and there's a hint of disbelief in her voice. "Alone?"

His jaw tenses, and he stuffs the first pile of paper into a folder while he tries to rein in the rising anger. It leaves a funny taste in his mouth. "I didn't bring EJ here, if that's what you're asking."

She's quiet in his back, and when almost a minute passes without a reply, he turns and looks at her. 

"It's not," she says just then, but her voice is weirdly small. She has her arms wrapped around herself, though, and he's no longer sure what to believe. "She is... your business, and I--"

"She's dead," he says, and her eyes widen. He sighs and raises a hand to rub his tired eyes. "At least we think she is, her body wasn't found yet. And no, she's not the one in the folder, but she lied to me just the same, Ziva."

She blinks and stares at him quietly for a long time. Her expression wanders all over the place again, and he's confused when, in the end, she settles for sympathy and says, "I'm sorry."

He takes another deep breath and then walks around the table to pick up the stack of DVDs and the small portable player that have kept him company during the worst of it. "Yeah, well," he says and thinks of that one night where he was _this_ close to calling her. "The things that seem too easy never are, right?"

She's quiet in his back, and when he looks at her over his shoulder, he sees her pretty face scrunched up while her teeth worry her thumb. She's adorable when she's lost in thought. He's not sure how he managed to forget that.

"You mean the hard things could be the really easy ones?" she asks, and he stares at her, blinking and returning her confusion with some of his own while he tries to figure out if she's on to something here or just completely brainfailing.

Then he smiles and raises his hand to wag his finger at her. "Oh no. Don't go using ninja logic on me, sweetheart," he says, and his grin hides some things and still manages to bring others out into the open. "Not tonight when I'm all concussed and vulnerable."

Her chin comes up in amused response, and a smile that feels like old times ghosts around her mouth as she replies, "Well, then, start healing already, so we can talk."

There's a twinkle in her eyes, and he knows she's mostly joking, but it still freaks the crap out of him for a second. His pulse suddenly does weird things, and to hide it, he grimaces and states dramatically, "I feel a looong sick leave coming up..."

Ziva does the same thing he does, falls back into their old, safe patterns, and so she just rolls her eyes at him and turns to wait for him outside.

*** *** ***

Strangely, it's coming back to his own apartment that turns out to be the real kick in the gut, the ball that hits him squarely out of left field and leaves him reeling for a moment. He manages to cover it up by going through the rooms and opening windows and flipping switches to have some light, and he's pretty sure Ziva hasn't noticed his hesitation, but it was there nonetheless. It's weird to come home to a place that doesn't feel like it's been all that desperate to have him back.

He powers up his laptop while Ziva is in his bedroom and unpacks the sports bag. He's not entirely sure why she does that. (He's a big boy, after all, he can do it himself, right?) But he gladly takes the few extra minutes of her company. If Rachel's prodding and meddling has taught him one thing tonight it's that he's thoroughly sick of being on his own.

He has pulled up his emails by the time she comes back into the living room, and it takes him a moment to recall the reason she's suddenly fidgety and doesn't look too comfortable. Right. 

For a heartbeat he contemplates not doing this now, while she's still here. Wonders if it wouldn't be better to just talk to her for a little longer until she wanders off again, to her own apartment and to her own, hopefully, empty bed, so he can read her emails later and then forget they ever reached him because that's most likely the safer approach to whatever she told him in these letters.

But then her eyes skirt all over the place, and he thinks that if she's like that, there's a good chance she's embarrassed by what she wrote, and if he doesn't look at it now and react right away, there's an even better chance he never will. React, that is.

He glances at the mails that have been sent in irregular intervals. Not the precise, once-a-week update mails she used to send CI-Ray, more like something she just had to get off her chest every now and then. He opens the last one. Two weeks old, nothing since then, and yeah, he expects something unexpected, something they don't usually say or do. But he still isn't prepared to read _'I miss you'._

Just that, just these three words. His head spins suddenly, and there's a weird throbbing in his temples that has nothing to do with him getting knocked around.

"Well," Ziva says, and he turns his head to look at her. She looks even more fidgety all of a sudden, like she wants to run. Deer in the headlights. He can't blame her. "Goodnight, Tony."

She has reached the door by the time he gets up on his feet and says her name, and it roots her to the spot, with her shoulders all tense and the door halfway open. He takes a deep breath, and the slightest shudder runs through her while she turns her head to glance back at him. She's scared suddenly. He can see it in her face. And yet, there's also the slightest bit of anticipation going on.

"It was... hard," he finally presses out, and Ziva meets his eyes and stares at him. And then her shoulders relax the tiniest bit.

"It's never easy to investigate one of your own," she says, very softly, and that's the Ziva he doesn't just like, that's the one who is dangerous for his heart. The one who is compassionate.

"Not that," he hears himself say before he can censor the words, and part of him is horrified about the sensation of splitting his chest open and letting her see what's going on and being _honest_ about it for a change. But some tiny part of him, deep inside, also trembles with a strange sense of relief, and he suspects she must have felt something similar when she sent him those short notes. "Being alone. Without you... guys."

He reins the wayward words back in line just in time, with just the hint of a pause before he turns it into something more general and more safe. Something that encompasses the whole team and not just the woman who missed him. But it seems like she still heard it, because her face softens, just like that. And after a few more heartbeats, she tilts her head in question.

"Do you want me to stay? For a little while?" 

Her voice is quiet and almost drowned out by the buzzing in his ears, and so it takes him a while to process the question. When he gets it, he feels a weird rush, and it makes him grin and duck his head and shrug awkwardly.

"Doc said someone should wake me every few hours and ask me silly questions, so..." His voice trails off, and he's not sure what else to say to make her understand it's not just _someone_ he needs around tonight.

It turns out it doesn't really need more words or more persuasion, because yeah, she sort of gets him, like she always does, and so he watches her close the door again and lean back against it and smile at him, softly, while she crosses her arms.

"I can do that," she says. And it's weird, but yeah, something eases up in his chest at those simple words.

*** *** ***

He doesn't end up with his head in her lap. But when he falls asleep, he's curled up on the couch beside her and her hand rubs slow circles on his back, and that's close enough. At least for tonight. 


	2. Cheerleader

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set after 9x02, so yes, minor spoilers for that episode. A short, sweet, fluffy interlude that leads to their mood in 9x03. And yes, I do realize it's progressing agonizingly slow, but trust me -- it'll be worth it. :)

His hair is still damp from the shower and he has almost downed his first glass of his favorite mood enhancer when she knocks. And yeah, he knows it's her before he takes a look. It's just a hunch, but he knows. Because he knows her, and she knows him, and it's their thing, and dammit, things are pretty bad when he starts thinking in sitcom jingles.

When he opens the door, he finds her bouncing on her toes, and for a moment he can't help but stare at her and wonder if she switched brains with Abby while he wasn't paying attention. Because the Ziva tilting her head back and looking at him now, that Ziva is all excited and expectant, and she has these sparkly eyes and shiny lips, and her ponytail bounces up and down like a freshman's who is looking for the best party on campus.

"Uhm," he says at the same time some of the bouncy energy drains out of her and she says, "You're not ready."

He blinks some more and stares at her while she gives him something that could easily be classified as a pout, except that he isn't stupid enough to call it that. He's confused, because the Ziva he knows doesn't pout. At least never like that, while she bounces around and swings her hips left and right, with her head tilted to the side and her eyes wide and innocent, and dear God, all that's missing now is the popping bubblegum and she'd be the perfect little schoolgirl.

"Ready for what?" he says while he tries to get over the fact that even the tight shirt and tighter jeans fit the image perfectly. She looks like Buffy's kinky little sister, and he has no idea what she's up to, but whatever it is, she sure put some effort into it.

"Mud Queens of Maryland?" she asks as if he's the one who lost it, and when he keeps staring at her dumbfoundedly, she shakes her head, makes a little "Tch!" sound deep in her throat and brushes past him. "We are going to be late."

"'We'?" he asks, but she doesn't react and storms into his bedroom. With another sigh he closes the door and follows her warily. "Ziva, I'm not in the mood."

"I know," she mumbles from the depths of his closet. "That's why I'm here. To get you in the mood."

He knows she's throwing him a bone there, and for a brief moment he considers giving in and coming up with a dirty reply, but in the end he's too tired to even try. It's the slightest bit scary, and Ziva pauses her rummaging in his casual clothes to glance at him. Her eyebrow arcs up high, and he's suddenly really, _really_ tired.

"Ziva," he begins and raises a hand to rub the tense spot between his eyebrows, but before he can come up with a phrase that is colorful enough to convey just _how_ much he isn't in the mood, she turns and drops his favorite and most comfortable pair of jeans on his bed.

"No, Tony," she says and walks up to him. She stares into his face, her brows a little furrowed, and she looks so stupidly determined that he feels like fidgeting his way out of her reach. "I gave you those tickets to cheer you up. You haven't returned them to me and you haven't given them away either, so that means deep down inside you want to be cheered up." Her right index finger pokes his chest for emphasis, and he stares down at the offending appendage while he tries and fails to come up with something to invalidate her logic. She's been hanging out with Abby too much, definitely. "So get dressed before I do it for you."

Her chin goes up a bit, and she suddenly gives him this no-nonsense expression that makes him pretty sure she'd actually do that -- throw him to the ground or maybe on the bed and wrestle him into his clothes. And for a brief moment the thought intrigues him enough to maybe, maybe risk it.

She knows him, too, and so she sees the exact moment she has him. He still pretends to put up a fight, until she picks the one shirt he knows she likes best.

*** *** ***

She steals his soda and he pretends to be outraged, but in truth he's kind of glad this gives him an excuse to not look at the grunting, slippery, mostly naked women for a moment. (Now that's something to mark in the calendar.) It's nice and all, and the girls are extremely athletic. Once he even catches himself wondering idly what the redhead could do with those mile-long legs of hers.

But it's still not what it used to be, and he's not really into it, and no, this time it doesn't cheer him up. Maybe it's his own, belated form of growing pains, maybe he's just throwing himself one hell of a pity party, but tonight -- it just doesn't work for him.

And he knows Ziva has noticed. He feels the glances she sneaks and the little taps of her fingers against his thigh every now and then, and he supposes it should reassure him that his partner worries about him like that, but in truth, it almost puts him in a weird state of performance anxiety.

He longs for a switch to give her what she wants, really. A simple button he can press and suddenly it's all hunky-dory again. But he doesn't have such a button, and so he is left sitting on the wooden bench beside a Ziva fresh out of a cheerleader's mail order catalogue, and he's sipping his soda and pretending to leer at muddy girls grunting their lungs out when all he wants to do is lounge on his couch and watch a violent movie.

Ziva does her own routine of pretending beside him. Pretends not to care that he's not about to get in the mood anytime soon. Pretends to leer at the girls herself, just to get a rise out of him. Pretends she's unflappable and as bouncy as her ponytail and her pretty little boobs tonight.

It's that last thought that makes his mind come to a screeching halt. He stares at her with suddenly wide eyes as he realizes that God, yes, she really does the complete cheerleader routine solely for his sake, so by now she's _this_ close to flashing him, just to make him smile. She turns her head just then and opens her mouth, and he _knows_ there's another smart-ass double entendre coming up. Except that she doesn't get the chance this time because Tony can't help it and shoots first and asks, "Jesus, Ziva, what's next? You're gonna sit on my lap until I feel better?"

He knows it was a mistake to say it the moment she tilts her head and starts to think about it, and he tries to cover it up by taking another sip of soda and shaking his head and mumbling something that sounds even more grumpy than he feels. But Ziva, bless her heart, has never been easily distracted once her mind is hooked on something, and so she thinks for just a few heartbeats longer. And then, while he still believes he might actually get away with this one, she's on her feet and swings her leg across his, and he's suddenly out of breath while she settles down comfortably. 

"Worth a try," she says, and her lips curve so sweetly that it blows his mind a little because she certainly never looked at him like _that_ before.

"Ziva..." he starts and then he runs out of words because he has no idea what to say to that. 

He finds that his back is stiff and straight all of a sudden and his arms are kind of hanging in the air so he doesn't touch her accidentally, but she's determined to have none of that, and so her arms come up and rest loosely on his shoulders. One hand slides down his back, and yeah, she's too close and this is fucked up because they're not like that, haven't been for a long while. They don't do stuff like this, even though he suddenly suspects he wouldn't mind it all that much if they started doing it. If it were real and not just yet another act to cheer him up.

And that's the reason he can't really react to the warm, lively body in his lap. He just stares at her while she smiles all expectantly, like she did good and wants her cookie now. "It's not that easy, Ziva," he sighs and puts the soda down on the bench so he can grab her waist and get her off his lap before this gets ridiculous.

But apparently even that isn't easy anymore because her thighs tighten to keep her right where she is, and then she leans forward, closer to him. One of her arms slides around his neck, and her lips brush his cheek, and then she lets them slide a little closer to his ear.

"Come on, Tony," she murmurs. Her warm breath sends a shiver down his skin, and that's a reaction he can't help because it feels too delicious to be drowned out even by moping. "I know you like it when I'm on top. You always did."

His mind stumbles over the words she chose to get under his skin, but it's not what she says that flips the switch for him. It's the sudden realization that she's close enough to melt into him and that she almost does a little of that, too. It's the warmth that radiates from her body and seeps into his own and reminds him that he hasn't felt anyone like this in too long a time. It's her scent, of her sandalwood shampoo and her jasmine soap and her soft skin underneath, so close suddenly and rising up so intensely in his nose that it triggers a few more responses he hasn't had in an even longer while. It's the curve of her neck and the sudden desire to press his mouth to her jasmine skin that gets him in the end. And the way she molds herself to his body for the tiniest moment before she chuckles softly.

"There," she breathes out against his cheek, and his hand clenches on her hip because her voice is so deliciously low and promising all of a sudden. "That's more like it..."

He blinks and tries to remember that she doesn't mean it like that, that she just staged this to distract him and his busy mind. But it's hard work, and he doesn't quite succeed, and so, when she leans back and he feels her thigh muscles shift once more, just for a different reason, he can't help the reflex: his arm tightens around her waist and keeps her right where she is when she tries to get up casually. 

She falls back into his lap with a soft sound of surprise, and it only takes a heartbeat until her eyes widen minutely. Her pulse picks up speed, he can see it easily because the vein in her neck suddenly pulses harder than it did just a minute ago. He's not quite sure why yet, if she's panicking or if there's real excitement rising in her, but he thinks that he can always ponder about that later. Right now, it's more important to have her close for a few moments longer. And to make her understand there's more to this than just appreciating the gesture.

Because yeah, it's nice to have such a gorgeous body spread out all over him, that's for sure. But it's not the body that flipped his switch and focused his attention hard, it's the person stuck inside it. And she has to realize that it's so much better to have _Ziva_ this close, this mindnumbingly close and sharing his breath and his space and his warmth, than any other body. He misses being this close to her. Misses not just touching her, but having her draped all over him just to make her point. Misses her seeking his touch, because that was a different Ziva then, one he could touch inappropriately in return, without fear of having her shatter all over the place. 

But then her eyes widen a little more, and a fierce blush stains her cheeks, and he thinks that maybe this Ziva isn't all bad to have on his lap because old Ziva sure as hell never did _that_. She never really reacted to him being close to her, at least not like she does now, with her lips parting and her pulse racing and her being at a loss for words while he just sits there and finds more confidence in their proximity with each passing heartbeat.

He finds that he likes having a blushing, warm and nervous Ziva close like this. And from the way it looks, she kinda likes it, too. She's just a lot less sure about this than he is, and so her eyes dart all over his face while she desperately tries not to meet his gaze.

In the end, she fails, and she takes a slow, shaky breath when he raises his chin and looks at her and her heart beats even faster because yeah, this is closeness, this is not hiding anything for once. It's real intimacy, and he can see that it shakes her to the core, but he's too busy reveling in the thought that he likes being this intimate with her. 

She jumps when the guy behind them yells to go get a room, and Tony laughs and lets go of her after all so she can slide off his lap. She's still shaky when she sits down on the bench beside him again, but he's not, he just picks up his soda and smiles and, for the first time today, feels damn good in his skin.


	3. The Backrub Principle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set during and after various scenes of 9x03, so yes, spoilers for that episode. Yes, it's still going agonizingly slow, but trust me -- it'll be worth it. :) Mostly safe for work, with just a little hint of steam.
> 
> One line is gleefully borrowed from a certain X-Files episode. I kinda had to. ;)

She ignores the first two texts that make him frown while they still crouch over the late Navy Lieutenant Booth, but later, when they walk back to the car, Tony's phone buzzes angrily again, and this time Ziva can't help turning her head and watching him curiously. She keeps staring at him while he scrolls through the text with a deepening frown.

"Your father?" she guesses, and Tony shoves his phone into his pocket a little more violently than necessary. He doesn't say anything, but apparently it's all the confirmation she needs, and she sighs and inches a little closer to him. He's pretty sure she doesn't even notice it. In a weird way he appreciates it when she's like that. "Why do you do that to yourself?"

He blinks and walks on and -- once again -- doesn't have a real answer for her. He's not sure why he keeps humoring his old man. Why he's bitching and griping about this stupid birthday party at every opportunity he gets and yet volunteered to do it. So no, he has no idea why he does that to himself. Except that it seemed like a good idea at the time.

McGee's riding with Gibbs to check out something else, and that's probably a good thing because Tony suddenly isn't in the mood for company. (Ziva's different. Ziva isn't company in the traditional sense of the word, she's more like his hovering shadow of support when he's like this, and these days he can take that a lot easier than it used to be.)

She's quiet beside him. He's not sure what to make of that, and so he glances at her sideways when they have almost reached the car. And it's strange, but his heart stutters for a moment when he sees her face soften up in that weird way she sometimes has with him, the way that says she's feeling just as soft and sympathetic and warm as her face looks right now.

"You haven't seen him for a while, have you?" Her voice has the same quality her gaze has, and for a moment he's distracted by the involuntary emotional reaction that draws out of him.

Then it sinks in what she just said, and he's mildly stunned for a moment. Is it really this easy? He ruins his own mood for days just because he wants to see his father?

He can't come up with a proper answer to that, and so he shrugs and gets into the car. Apparently that's enough for Ziva, though, because she slides into the passenger seat with a thoughtful little sound tumbling from her lips. When he doesn't react (and he puts on his best show for that) she turns in her seat and stares at his profile until he grinds his teeth and says, "What?"

"You could factor in something for yourself. To make the party nicer for you," she replies with a half-smile and the slightest shrug.

He snorts and turns the car a little harder than necessary. "Oh, I already did. I plan on getting drunk as fast as possible, so I don't have to experience too much of the atrociousness." 

Her voice is cautious when she speaks up again, like she's thinking about something else entirely and isn't quite sure how to phrase it. "You could bring someone," she suggests eventually.

"Just so my dad makes a move on my date and I end up moping in a corner? I don't think so."

"Well." She hesitates, and he's almost ready to ask what she's up to when she blurts out, "You could bring a friend who just poses as a date."

"Why would I do that?"

Ziva blinks and watches him quietly until he feels like squirming. "I thought that's obvious," she says. "So you have someone around you're familiar with and who's there for your sake. Someone who makes having fun at a party you don't enjoy a little easier for you."

Tony finds himself frowning a little more with each word, and yeah, part of him kind of gets where she's going with this, but for some reason his brain still refuses to follow along completely, and so he says, "I'm not taking McGee. I don't want to scar the Probie. He can't take the parties my dad throws."

This time Ziva does roll her eyes, and the annoyed little sound that comes out of her throat seems too familiar these days. "For God's sake, Tony!" she mutters and shakes her head, and he almost grins. He can't help it. He just likes it when he gets under her skin, whether intentional or not.

But the smirk never gets a real chance to blossom because when he shoots her a sideways glance he finds that she's staring straight ahead and carefully avoiding his gaze. And that's when he suddenly gets it.

"Wait, you?" he asks, and the car actually swerves a little while he tries to process the thought. "You want me to bring _you_ as a date to my father's birthday party?"

"You don't have to sound like that," she huffs and turns her head to look out of the window.

"Like what?"

She's quiet for a few more moments, and at one point he realizes he isn't going to get an answer, so he shoots her another glance and tries to judge her mood. No, she's not happy right now. Her face isn't outright tense, but it's carefully blank, and he's not sure what's going on in her head right now. "My dad's hand would be glued to your ass all night," he jokes. He knows it's a weak one when she just glares at him and still doesn't say a word.

"Look," he says, but before he can go on, Ziva's eyes narrow a bit.

"I wasn't offering this for your dad," she interrupts him before he can dig himself an even bigger hole. "And you should know by now it's not his hand I want on my ass."

His mouth is suddenly a bit dry because yeah, there's a certain tone to her voice that suggests he _should_ know what she's talking about, in his own best interest. He's not entirely sure she's not just baiting him, though, and he's not gonna risk a car crash by going there now.

"So what," he says. To his surprise his heart pounds a little faster because if he got this right he is about to ask her out. Sort of. "You're gonna be my fake date and laugh at my jokes and be all over me just to brighten my mood?" He pauses, then shoots her a quick glance and an even quicker smile. "Again?"

She scrutinizes him and tilts her head a little more, and then the corners of her mouth twitch while she tries to hide her returning amusement. "I will be your fake date, if you want," she confirms, "and I will laugh at your jokes if they are moderately funny."

He chuckles and takes the next turn a lot more smoothly than the last. By the time he pulls his concentration away from the rush hour traffic again, Ziva's smiling, and he's smiling, and that's really all there is to it.

*** *** ***

For some reason it seems to be Ziva's bouncy ponytail that does the final trick of putting him back into a good mood. He finds his eyes drifting back to her in pretty short intervals by the time Westfal rushes off in a sudden hurry, and when she looks at him with that amused smile of hers, the one that says she noticed the guy is clearly hiding something from them, Tony finds himself smiling back for no good reason. He doubts she is even aware of it, but for a tiny moment her lips curve a little more in response before she tilts her head back and lets the sun play over her skin.

"Ah, well," she finally says, and there's a slightly wistful tone to her voice. "Let's get back to DC."

He feels the need to protest, but he's not quite sure how without looking weird. He can't really tell her he's not yet done with watching her, after all.

*** *** ***

She looks at him in mild confusion when he touches her elbow and drags her off the path that would take them straight back to the entrance. And yeah, he knows it's not what NCIS pays them for, but the Zen garden behind the next row of hedges looks simply too nice to not at least sneak a fleeting glance.

"What is it?" she asks. He feels her instantly switch to alert mode, so he taps his fingers to the small of her back to make her instincts settle down again.

"Relax," he says and shoots her a grin while the pressure of his palm gently steers her through the meticulously trimmed hedges. "Literally, I mean. Just want to wander around a little."

His wink shuts down her buzzing alertness, but she stills looks at him vaguely suspicious, so he shrugs. "We drove all this way for what, five minutes of evasive talk? I think we deserve to get something a little more rewarding out of our efforts, right?"

Ziva chuckles, and the sound coming from deep in her throat sends a pleasant tingle down his spine. "I didn't know you were into gardens, Tony."

"Hey, I'm a multi-layered guy." Her eyebrow shoots up, and he gives her another grin and bonus points for not going for the obvious 'layered like an onion' quote he's sure she has on her tongue right now. (He can almost see it in the way the corners of her mouth twitch with amusement.) 

"Come on, Ziva," he pleads with his voice low and his eyes all wide and trusting, and yeah, he can see how he gets her with that, how she mellows a little and her pace slows down until she's no longer striding but strolling. 

"Gibbs will not be pleased if we waste time," she still throws in, but her face is all soft and indulgent already, and when she tilts her head back to look at him, sunlight dances across her mouth. And that makes _him_ suddenly feel soft and very, _very_ indulgent. It distracts him, too, enough that he slips up and smiles at her again.

"Gibbs won't know," he says with his best conspirator's voice, and Ziva's eyes widen a little at the intimacy it carries. "And that's because we won't tell him that we snuck away for a moment, that we took a timeout to breathe, and that I really liked the way you look in this light."

Ziva blinks and stares at him while her steps falter. Her eyes narrow slightly, and there's suddenly a weird mix of confusion and suspicion in her gaze. She even opens her mouth, but before she comes up with a way to voice just how much he threw her off track with that, she presses her lips shut again and resumes walking. A frown ghosts over her face. 

He winks at her once more because he can't help it, and that's when she blurts out, "Tony, are you flirting with me?" 

A hint of disbelief rings in her voice, and for some reason that turns his own smile into a wide and inviting and deliciously ambiguous one. "Maybe," he says with a shrug.

She blinks again, her eyebrows raised now, her lips parted the slightest bit, and she stares at him as if she thinks about drilling a hole into his skull to get his thoughts out. Usually, that expression makes him squirm, but today it merely serves to keep the annoying smile plastered all over his face.

 _"Why?"_ she asks eventually, and her tone is so incredulous and confused now that he wants to laugh.

Instead, he leans a tiny bit closer, just enough to make her notice, and yeah, he knows he's milking it for all it's worth, but he can't fight the urge to mess with her just a little more, so he says, "Because it's a beautiful day and a nice place and because I happen to like the way you look in this light."

He's not sure what gets him more: the way her nostrils flare a little when she involuntarily breathes in his scent or the tiny flush that creeps into her cheeks, just before she looks away.

*** *** ***

Somewhere around the time McGee brings her back to the Yard, after her almost-meeting with a now-dead reporter, Tony realizes that he really likes Penny. She's just this classy lady, even while she's shaken to the core. He can't even call her 'old' because yeah, technically she's no longer a fresh blossom, but with her it doesn't seem to matter all that much. Her mind is so agile and trippy that she even tickles a little more in him than just his playful side, and so he finds himself offering her his arm while he walks her down to the duck pond.

She takes it with a somewhat sly smile and winks at him, and he knows it's just her way of taking her mind off the nasty things. He still likes the way she smiles, and by the time the elevator doors open he finds himself completely engrossed in the tale she spins for him, about her affair with a certain strapping young actor, a mere week before his untimely death.

"You know, Penny, I think I need to be careful here," Tony chuckles when she finishes her story and puts his hand over hers on his arm.

Her smile is warm and intrigued, and yeah, she's not seriously flirting with him, but she certainly enjoys pretending to do it. "And why is that, Tony?" she asks with a twinkle in her eye while she inches closer.

He can't help the grin. She's almost cute in her open appreciation for him, and yeah, it does stroke his ego to be appreciated by a lady like her. He finds that it's not even a charming lie when he tells her that McGee probably wouldn't approve of the snuggling, but under slightly different circumstances she could be downright dangerous for him.

Penny chuckles and hooks her arm a little tighter into his, and then his heart misses a beat when she says, "Oh, my dear Tony, I've never been the kind of woman who intrudes."

He stares at her with a frown and feels slightly dumbfounded while he tries to figure out what she's getting at. His trip-happy heart knows, of course, but his mind still refuses to connect the dots, so he just repeats, "Intrude?" And yeah, even he has to admit that could have sounded a bit smarter.

She turns her head and looks at him with a smile that says she's completely smitten with him. And at the same time she gives his arm a gentle squeeze and says, "Ziva is a very lucky woman."

He blinks. Runs that line over in his head a few more times, just to make sure he heard it correctly. "Uhm," he says eventually. "We're not..."

Now it's Penny who turns her head and looks him up and down with vague surprise in her eyes. She doesn't seem to believe him, but in the end she settles for asking, "Why not?"

He keeps staring at her as if she had just suggested that red is a good hair color for him. "It's... complicated," he says. And somewhere in the back of his head Ziva's voice reminds him this usually means 'stop asking so I don't have to explain it'.

Penny, though, she just smiles and leans a little closer, and her voice has a certain secretive tint all of a sudden. "I've seen the way she looks at you, Tony," she says, and there's his traitor heart again, missing yet another beat. "There's nothing complicated about that."

He's not sure what to say to that, mostly because he's not sure she's right, and so he's almost relieved when they round a corner and run into Ducky, who's all too happy to take over. But yes, her words are still stuck in his mind for a good while later. And maybe that's even the reason he finds himself smiling a little more often that day.

*** *** ***

He runs into Ziva on his way to the break room, and since great minds think alike and all that jazz, they turn it into an impromptu snack date. He almost moans around his much-needed chocolate snack, and the sound is echoed from Ziva's side of the table where she's clutching her coffee with the extra double helping of cream.

"The new coffee machine," she mumbles and licks cream off her lip, "was so worth it..."

He supposes he agrees, but he's not completely sure because right now his mind is stuck somewhere he didn't plan on ending up. He just stares at her mouth for a moment and wonders what other noises she makes.

She turns her head when he doesn't reply, and he feels fuzzy all of a sudden when she looks at him all warm and happy and unguarded. And so, before he has a chance to stop the thought that falls out, he opens his mouth and says, "Listen..."

She does just that, tilts her head and listens with her mouth still relaxed and smiling, and while she takes another sip of coffee he tries to be casual enough to not make her stop doing that.

"You want to watch a movie later?" He pauses while she tilts her head a little more and blinks at him, and when she doesn't reply, he shrugs and tries to brush off the true importance of the question. "We haven't done that in ages."

And this is when his own smile suddenly fades because he's right, the last time they did this properly was a few nights before Jenny's death. Back when things had seemed a lot less complicated.

He looks down at his hands and thinks that, yes, he just asked a lot of her without thinking about it. He rarely does that (the thinking part), he just does what feels right at the moment. And it felt right to try this -- not to go back to what they had then, really, but to start mending things between them on yet another level. He glances at her, and maybe it's just his own nervousness messing with him now, but suddenly he's not entirely sure she's ready for this.

But she does think about it, and after a while she replies, her voice weirdly hesitant, that she has something else planned for tonight. And yes, he feels his face fall, feels the sparkle drain out of his eyes while she speaks. It's silly, really, but he can't seem to help it. He would have liked her to say yes.

"But there's tomorrow," she adds then, and the slight wink she gives him reels his expectations back in so hard that he's dizzy for a heartbeat.

"Tomorrow's fine," he nods and grins around the last bite of his chocolate bar.

That didn't seem too complicated.

*** *** ***

It's only when McGee accuses him of being as annoying as a five year old on caffeine that he realizes he hasn't been truly happy for a while. He's been moderately content, he's had his fair share of fun, of course, but he hasn't felt like he does now -- at peace.

Then the Probie squints his eyes and frowns at him and says, "Oh God, you're dating again."

Tony blinks and stares at his computer screen and wonders how McGee came up with that. He certainly doesn't--

But then Ziva's gaze is suddenly heavy on him, and yeah, that's kind of a sledgehammer out of left field. And he's left speechless because McGee's accusation even makes some kind of sense now.

It's not dating, of course. (They never said it would be.) But thinking about it certainly makes him happy.

*** *** ***

She smiles at him when she's finally done with wrapping up her stuff and powers down her computer, all relaxed and sweet, and he finds himself smiling back before he can suppress it. She's still pretty, even in the ghastly light of an office in shutdown mode, but he can't really tell her that, so he concentrates on finishing his own report while she slings her jacket over her arm and strolls over to his desk to wait for him. 

It makes him slightly nervous because he's suddenly not entirely sure where this is going. But then she asks him if he already picked a movie, and he tells her, and Ziva rolls her eyes. And just like that, things are back to normal.

*** *** ***

"Really, Tony? 'Once Upon A Time In America'?" She kicks off her boots while she says it, and he glances at her with a smile. He can tell she's not really annoyed by his choice, she just pretends to be, and that's fine with him. "I thought you were joking."

"It's a classic! Sergio Leone's final masterpiece!" He shakes his head in mock indignation and hands her a Corona while he flops down on the couch beside her. "Besides, it's perfect to brush up on your cultural knowledge."

"It's a man movie," she grunts and wriggles her toes while she grabs a pillow and gets comfortable.

He snorts and puts the bowl of popcorn between them. "Hey, you invite me over to your place, we can watch 'Steel Magnolia'," he shrugs, and she almost laughs when he clinks bottles with her.

"It's _four_ hours," she still whines and sticks out her lower lip at him, and that and the look on her face distracts him so good that for a moment he just stares at her. His lips part, and he tries to come up with a witty remark that doesn't include leaning over and kissing her. It's hard work, though, and in the end he's glad when she rolls her eyes at him and tells him to just start the movie already.

*** *** ***

By the time Noodles gets out of prison he can tell Ziva is completely engrossed in the movie. He can also tell she likes it, in the same weird way he likes it -- it just suckers her in and draws emotions out of her against her will.

It's a good thing she likes it. That way he doesn't have to convince himself he really picked it for the story and not just for the amount of time he gets to spend with her.

*** *** ***

She gets restless after a while, and at first he thinks she needs a pee break, but when he turns his head to watch her straight on and not just out of the corner of his eye, he sees her make a face and rub her neck.

"Tense?" he asks, and she moans and rolls her head until he hears the vertebrae crack. It makes him wince along with her, and he doesn't think when he offers her a backrub. 

"Smooth, Tony," she says with a soft chuckle and settles back into her corner of the couch.

Tony doesn't, though. He keeps looking at her until she turns her head and meets his eyes. "I'm serious," he says, and his voice goes along with that statement. "This is one thing I know how to do." And then he gives her a vaguely dirty grin after all, raises his hands and wriggles his fingers. "You want some references from the countless women I helped relax with these?"

Ziva's eyebrow shoots up. He can see her ponder several responses to this, but in the end she merely laughs and shakes her head. "I haven't been relaxed since I was twelve years old," she shrugs and sucks on her Corona bottle. And yeah, he knows that's supposed to make him back off, but it turns out to be a statement that intrigues him instead.

"Not even after sex?" he asks, and she tries not to choke on her beer while she stomachs the indecent question.

" _Especially_ not after sex," she replies eventually, her eyebrow quirking up in a way that is somehow suggestive and yet, at the same time, weirdly neutral. He's not entirely sure what to make of that, just that it's supposed to make him back off. But he _is_ sure he sees her composure flicker for a tiny moment when he keeps looking at her. 

It's almost as if there's a hint of real interest flaring up in her eyes. Maybe she even wonders now if he's as good as he claims to be. Because it almost looks like it, if he goes by the way she tilts her head and watches his hands and thinks hard suddenly.

"Come on," he nudges her and grabs a pillow. Her expression turns carefully blank when he throws the pillow to the ground and then gestures for her to sit down between his feet. "It's worth a try."

Her eyes flick back up and meet his, and for a few seconds she looks like she wants to argue with him. But then she suddenly seems to decide it's not worth the effort and gets up with a sigh. And since he's always been like that -- easily challenged -- her attitude leaves him even more determined to show her a good time now.

It's weird to have her settle down between his legs, and for a moment he watches her wriggle around until she's sitting comfortably, with her legs tucked under herself and her back turned to him. "Trust me," he says. "I know what I'm doing." 

It's weird to see her shoulders loose a little of their tension in reaction to his words. It feels even weirder to watch her raise her arms and put up her ponytail so he can reach her neck better. They usually don't do this kind of stuff, after all.

"I trust you," she says and leans back against the couch. And yeah, he knows the phrase doesn't have any real weight behind it if she uses it like that, but it's still a tiny rush to hear it. "But it still won't do any good." She takes another sip of beer and goes back to watching the movie, and for a second he blinks and stares at her elegant neck and wonders if that was a challenge. Sort of felt like one, from his side of the couch.

She doesn't flinch or tense when his fingers touch her neck. He's not sure that's a good sign, though, especially when her attention stays fixed on the plasma. He can't help thinking that maybe it's because he's like physical white noise to her these days, no distraction in any way, so there's no need for her to tense up at his touch.

"Any last words?" he murmurs, and she chuckles softly while he lets his fingers run down her neck and to her shoulders. And yeah, it's a neat little rush when he notices how her attention wavers from the movie while he feels his way around her muscles, not really kneading yet, just digging his fingertips in a bit, to get a feel for her body and to locate the really bad spots.

She wasn't kidding when she said she was always tense. He can feel it, can feel her muscles bunch up and strum with tension just underneath the surface. It's not the bad kind of tension, the one that says she's nervous or uncomfortable. He can feel that, too. Feels that it's simply a part of her, of always being alert, always keeping herself together, never letting go completely. And yeah, that _is_ a challenge for him.

He's told her the truth: he's given a lot of backrubs in his lifetime, mostly because that's one thing he really knows how to do. And because, yes -- he loves having a beautiful woman turn to putty in his hands. He loves to feel her relax gradually, and he loves the sexy little noises she will eventually make. Sometimes he even loves this more than sex because he gets to watch pleasure unfold without being distracted by his own needs. It's all about the girl and about making her feel good. And maybe, maybe about getting a tiny bit hot and bothered in the process.

It's not about the sexiness of it with Ziva, though. (He will not go there now, no sir.) He's simply curious all of a sudden what it will take to make her relax. And he's even more curious if she'll let him get her there.

She sighs just when he's about ready to start, and he feels her shift to get up again. She hasn't realized yet this was merely massage foreplay, of getting to know the terrain of her muscles so he doesn't end up hurting her. He can't help the smile when she says his name, slightly exasperated, with just the tiniest hint of frustration thrown in because yeah, apparently some part of her expected more out of this.

"Sit tight," he says and nudges her back down. "We're just getting started."

A small ripple of tense surprise runs through her at his words, and that's when he digs his thumbs into her back in earnest. Ziva takes a slow breath, and he can feel how she starts to look at him over her shoulder, slight surprise showing on her features. But that's not what he wants right now, and it won't help her relax, so he lets go of her shoulder long enough to put two fingers to her cheek and gently turn her head back until she doesn't strain her muscles any more than necessary. Then he gets back to work, and this time, Ziva doesn't object and doesn't try to get up again. 

She takes a sip of beer and licks her lips, and there's yet another shift in her concentration, away from the movie and to his presence in her back. He knows she still expects softness and gentle touches, and he knows he won't impress her with these, so he gives her neck a few firm, long strokes to loosen the worst of the tension. Then he drags his thumbs down the back of her neck and digs into the lean muscles of her shoulders, and that's when her breathing flutters and she puts her bottle down on the floor.

His fingers slide under the cloth of her blouse soon, and the somewhat rational part of his mind waits for her to object because that's taking things beyond mere physical relief. She doesn't, though, and he wonders about that for a moment until he feels her concentration slip. Her head sags forward a little, and he knows her eyes are closed now and she's completely focused on the sensation of her muscles loosening. 

Yeah, that's more like it.

His thumbs smooth out the knots in her shoulders one by one, and he doesn't really care that his fingers complain after a few more minutes of it. It feels too good to have her melt under his hands, to have her loosen up, not just in a metaphorical way, but in a very physical one.

Her breathing turns the slightest bit labored when his fingers slide up again and dig into the soft skin at the base of her skull. There's this tight little sound that comes out of her mouth when he does that, and he leans forward and puts more pressure into it. Her hair is a soft tickle against his fingers, and he finds himself staring at her neck while he makes her unwind. She bites her lip and almost groans, and for a heartbeat he has to fight the urge to lean forward and press his mouth to her skin. He wonders what she'd do if he tried. It's almost tempting enough to try and find out, but in the end, this is still all about her and about making her relax, so he runs his hands down her neck once more and goes back to working her shoulders.

There's a mean knot right beside her shoulder blade, and he's suddenly obsessed with smoothing that one out. She winces because stuff like this always hurts, but she doesn't pull away when he digs his fingertips in harder, and she doesn't tell him to stop when his hands slide even further under her shirt. It's not for feeling her up, after all, and she knows that and moans and lets him work on her muscles. And he does just that, he leans over her and really puts his weight into it now. She makes another noise that isn't even close to the ones he's heard from her so far. 

Her skin is hot under his hands, and he's pretty sure that's just from all the rubbing and kneading, but he can't fight the effect it has on him: his own attention shifts subtly, too, from muscles and bone to soft skin and scents in his nose and tiny moans deep in a beautiful woman's throat. It's all for her, yes, but suddenly his hands no longer touch her quite as professionally and he no longer seeks tense muscles, but rather spots that make her react just a little more, that make her skin heat up and her pulse run faster. It's a reflex, and he doesn't even notice it, oblivious to it at first -- just like Ziva, who leans into his touch now and seeks more of it because yeah, this feels good, but it could feel even better. He can't get a good look on her face, just a vague trace of her profile, but it's enough to let him see how her lips part and tremble slightly. It's such a hot sight that he suddenly can't think straight, and that's when his hands slip, down her shoulders in long, slow strokes, down, down, into her blouse, seeking more skin and more reaction to his touch, and she moves with him so beautifully, it's--

They freeze at the same time, his hand over her heart, her frantic pulse against his palm. And yeah, she probably thinks the same thing he has running around in his head now, back and forth and in endless circles: fuck. Because they went too far with that, clearly. They enjoyed it just a little too much, and so they slipped up, both of them. 

And it was too easy, really. Way too easy.

Ziva turns her head minutely, and he wonders what that expression means. He can't be sure, because she doesn't do the obvious, doesn't pull away or hit him. She doesn't even tell him to take his hands out of her shirt, stat. And yeah, part of him feels guilty now about losing his original focus, but he also can't help thinking that it felt really good to touch her like that. Maybe that's the reason they both keep sitting like that for a few moments longer, still touching, still breathing not quite normally.

He does pull his hands back eventually, but slowly, like he's just going for another tense spot. A soft shudder runs through Ziva, and he can tell she tries to say something, but doesn't quite manage to come up with the right words. He gives her neck one last, long stroke, and yeah, that makes her eyes almost flutter shut again. It also makes him wonder what would happen if he just kept going now, but he doesn't feel ready yet to give it a try.

"There," he murmurs and finally lets go of her, and her back straightens at the softly spoken word. She moves a little awkwardly when she gets up and moves back to the couch again, and he's not sure he really heard the quiet thanks she mumbles while she presses into her corner and clings to the pillow she drags into her lap almost as if she tries to hide behind it.

Tony breathes out carefully and reaches for his Corona, and yeah, he does feel her eyes on him quite heavily while he swallows a good mouthful. He gets it, really. He's just as confused right now.

He still turns his head and meets her eyes, though, and it's weird, but Ziva still looks the same and the world hasn't come to a screeching halt yet. And maybe that's what makes him smile a smug little smile and say, "Thought you didn't relax."

She blinks and keeps looking at him. "I don't," she says. She sounds moderately calm, but her fingers twist and torture the corner of the pillow while she thinks hard. "Usually."

There are a dozen different answers to that, and he tries them all out in his head and finds them all lacking... something. In the end, he settles for giving her one of his best charmer smiles and taking another sip of beer and then a simple, "Could have fooled me."

For some reason, that makes her laugh.


	4. Baby Steps

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're picking up right where we left them. Then we move smoothly into the happenings of 9x04 "Enemy on the Hill", so yes, once more -- spoilers for that episode.
> 
> We're still at a snail's pace, but it feels oddly right.

She's certainly relaxed enough that he catches her sliding down on her side of the couch not too long after, and so the evening ends before the movie does, with her feet in his lap and Ziva making happy little sleeping sounds.

There's about an hour left to the movie, and he leaves it running in the background, but for some reason Tony finds his attention drifting away from it in increasingly short intervals. Maybe it's simply because Ziva's face, all soft and mellow, makes for a more tempting visual than Robert DeNiro's.

*** *** ***

He sighs when the end credits roll. It means he finally has to get up and stop pretending he's in this for the man-made masterpiece and not the natural one. He's as careful as possible when he slides her legs off his lap and gets a blanket for her. If she wakes, she'll leave, and there's no reason for that, really. It's the weekend, and they're both wasted, and so he doesn't think it's a good idea to let her drive all tired and vaguely drunk. (At least that sounds good in his head.)

She curls tighter around the pillow for a second while he drapes the blanket over her, and Tony is pretty glad she's not looking at him right now. His face probably shows all too clearly how tempted he is to just lean down and kiss her forehead. Which they don't do, as a rule. No kissing, unless it's on an undercover job.

He's about to straighten up again when Ziva suddenly stirs and gasps. Her hand shoots out to grab his wrist as if she wants to stop him from coming any closer when, in fact, she keeps him from leaving. Yeah, sometimes she's jumpy like that.

"Just me," he murmurs softly and gives in to temptation after all: he reaches out with the hand she doesn't have a death grip on and brushes a strand of hair out of her face. "Go back to sleep. I'll drive you home in the morning."

For a heartbeat he's sure she will object. That she'll get up now and compose herself and be all businesslike again. Then the tension flows out of her as suddenly as it came, and she closes her eyes again.

"Mm'kay," she mumbles, and her hand relaxes, too. Slides up his wrist and ends up in his palm, fingers mingling loosely with his.

Tony blinks. Stares down at her hand. His throat is weirdly tight -- not in the bad way, more like there's a need to say something now, he's just not sure what. Then he gives her fingers a gentle squeeze and whispers, "You're killing me here, Ziva..."

She makes a sound that's halfway to a contented purr, and while she lets go of his hand and turns her back to him, she slurs, "No' yet..."

And yeah, that kinda makes him smile. Go figure.

*** *** ***

She's still relaxed in the morning, and that's probably the best part about it. That and the fact that she's in no real rush to get home, so while she's in the shower, he puts out one of his shirts for her to borrow and then runs off to get fresh croissants and an extra-large coffee. (The spicy blend she likes so much.) He doesn't even think about it. It's just the natural thing to do. 

It's probably just as well that he doesn't bother to stop and ponder his reasons for being nice. If he did, the result would most likely freak him out. Just a little.

*** *** ***

Her good mood sticks until Monday, and it amuses him to see her park her lovely rear end on Gibbs's desk the way she does, like it's her personal playground and she's allowed to do that. (Well, she probably is, since Gibbs doesn't object. Doesn't even bother to react, in fact.)

Tony's own mood, on the other hand, takes a slight dive when their fearless leader lets it slip that Ziva will be Brett's shadow because the Lieutenant Commander has a crush on their in-house assassin.

He knows the guy isn't Ziva's type. But it's still worth a pout.

*** *** ***

She's pretty mad when Tony takes her call, and he frowns when she asks him if he could pick her up. "Sure," he says, and she tells him where she is, then hangs up on him, just like Gibbs usually does.

It doesn't even occur to him to suggest calling a cab.

*** *** ***

He rounds the corner just as she kicks something into the darkness. He can't see what it is (probably not something fluffy, if her expression is anything to go by), but he can tell she probably kicked around a lot of things in the thirty minutes she's been waiting for him to show up.

"That bad?" he asks when she gets into the car and buckles up, still fuming.

"He ditched me," she replies. It's the only thing she says on the whole way back to the Yard, and Tony is glad he's not the one she wants to kick around.

*** *** ***

She tells McGee to track Brett's cell phone, but the guy's not stupid, he turned it off, of course. Which doesn't improve Ziva's mood.

She's just about to kick the stuffing out of the candy machine when Tony catches up with her in the break room. For a moment he watches her anger unfold because she's a tiny force of nature when she's like this. Then he asks, "Are you done?", and Ziva turns her head and looks at him and then kind of deflates before his eyes.

With a sigh she flops down on one of the chairs, and her lower lips does that pouty thing that always gets him so good. He can't fight the brief tingle it brings up in him. "He ditched me," she repeats as if that explains everything. 

And in a weird way it does, so much that he mirrors her sigh without even noticing it.

"I get it," he says and drags a second chair over so it's a little easier to look into her eyes. He's, technically, a lot closer than he needs to be for that, with his knees bracketing hers and him leaning in until it seems a little too easy to touch her. She doesn't notice, though. She's still trapped in the angry monologue of beating herself up over being tricked. 

"No, you don't," she shoots back heatedly. "Because I knew it, Tony. I sensed the whole day that he wanted to get rid of me, and I _still_ let him trick me."

She makes a furious wavy gesture in front of his face, and Tony grabs her hand and tugs until it rests almost in his lap. He half-expects her to drag her fingers out of his grip with even more heat, and yeah, there's a slight ripple of tension rolling through her. But then she just lets him touch her. She's quiet for a moment, just stares at her own hand in his while his thumb suddenly develops a life of its own and strokes the mound of her hand soothingly.

"I _get_ it, Ziva," he repeats, and she jerks slightly, her nostrils flaring. For a second the angry frown between her eyebrows deepens. Then she turns her head to the side, and a tiny flush creeps into her cheeks.

"I'm sorry," she murmurs. "I should not take my frustration out on you." She tries to pull her hand away and get up, but Tony doesn't let go. He leans a little more into her personal space instead, and that makes her glance back at him. This time she looks a little confused and distracted. 

He knows this is the moment to say something nice and supportive and then let go of her hand because the gesture served its purpose, after all -- he got her to listen. But things are never as easy as they seem between them, and so he finds himself somewhat stuck in touch, finds his thumb stroking her skin gently until her body softens up and her attention shifts. And then she is the one who inches a little closer, and he suddenly knows it wouldn't take all that much to make her forget about her anger altogether.

"We all need that sometimes," he says before he can give in to that particular urge. He gives her his best puppy dog eyes until she sighs and slumps back in her chair.

"Since when are you so... understanding?" Her chin comes up, and she looks vaguely stubborn, as if she already feels her irritation slipping away, but tries to hold on to it for just a little longer.

And Tony can't help the laugh, even though he looks away this time so he doesn't have to meet her eyes. Feels safer. "Since I get to touch you?" he slips up anyway, and yeah, he cloaks it in a lighthearted joke, but there's still a sudden burst of nervousness that makes his skin itch. 

Ziva doesn't reply right away, just lowers her head and stares at his wrist resting on her thigh. Which doesn't help. 

Then her fingers curl around his experimentally, and he blinks at the unexpected feeling of intimacy washing over him.

"That _is_ nice," she agrees, and he looks at her with his pulse doing strange things all of a sudden. Her mouth curves into a smile when she notices, and Tony blinks while her fingers return the careful caress he snuck in earlier.

 _Oh, this is bad,_ he thinks and stares at her. His eyes widen a little, and his pulse flip-flops. It's not bad-bad, really. It's more like a dangerous path, dark and unexplored and straight into the woods and all that. He's not quite sure he's brave enough to explore that road, so he desperately tries to come up with a smooth way to handle this and not screw things up completely in the process.

In the end he settles for grinning at her like he didn't mean half of what he said. It's a tried technique. He used it on her a lot of times. "Come on," he says, gets up and drags her along. "I feel like getting you drunk and then driving you home."

She stays in her chair at first, but he tugs at her arm, and so she gets up with a long-suffering sigh. He doesn't stop, though, he tugs again until she bumps into him with a soft _oomph,_ and before he knows how it happened, his arm is kinda slung around her shoulders. 

Later, he would never be entirely sure if he planned that or if he just went with the flow of the movement. But right now he doesn't care about that, because after a moment's hesitation Ziva puts her arm around his waist and leans into him a little more, and while he walks her out his lips somehow, sort of, end up brushing against her temple. Which doesn't feel half bad.

*** *** ***

He notices the looks McGee shoots his way while Tony is trying to loosen up Drew Turner. At first he thinks it's just normal Probie behavior. He's not prepared for the scalding wave of disapproval that hits him when they leave her office, though, and for a moment that throws him completely off track.

"Okay, what's with the face, McSourpuss?" he prods when McGee doesn't say a word and sticks to glaring. 

There's clearly something chewing away at the Probie. Tony thinks at first he might have to dig deeper because McGee's face clams up even more at the question. But then Timmy turns his head and scowls at him and asks in return, "Why did you just do that?"

He blinks, confused. "Do what?"

"Hit on her like that."

Now that's a stupid question if he ever heard one. "You saw her, right, Probie? All hot and cute?" And looking a bit like someone he knows, especially in that picture of her in the camo pants?

But McGee's frown only deepens, and that's when Tony steps in his way to get to the bottom of this, even if he needs to use brute force. "Okay, what did I miss here? What's with the condescending looks?"

For a second it looks like McGee wants to ignore the question and step around him, but then he raises his chin and looks at Tony in a clear challenge. "I saw you," he says as if that explains it all. It doesn't, and so Tony blinks at him some more until McGee elaborates. "Last night. With Ziva."

He rolls that line around in his head a few times while he tries to remember if there was anything scandalous to be seen last night. He's leaning towards nothing out of the ordinary at first, but then he suddenly remembers the touching and the hands, and yeah, he feels flushed because now he gets it.

"I'm not cheating on Ziva," he says. The scowl keeps sticking to McGee's face, though, and so Tony looks at him straight on and says, "She was about ready to clam up on you and your stick-in-the-mud attitude. A little flirting kept her amiable, that's it."

It's only when McGee tilts his head and looks at him a certain way that he realizes he may have picked the wrong thing to protest about.

*** *** ***

He sees her slip out of the conference room with an expression that says she needs to blow off some steam badly or she'll hurt someone. So, naturally, he sneaks after her into the break room.

He rounds the corner while she's sipping her coffee of the new-machine-of-awesomeness variety, and he knows she noticed him because she pours him one, too. Her shoulders are drawn tight again, and by now it's almost a reflex to put his hands to her neck and try to loosen her up. Just a little, just to take her mind off the worst of the tension. It's still a vague surprise when she moves into the touch, and that's what makes him realize he isn't used to this yet, after all.

"Having trouble with the Lieutenant Commander?" he guesses and puts a bit more effort into kneading the tension out. The little groan she gives him in return is... rewarding. (There's probably a more appropriate word for this, but right now Tony can't come up with one.)

"You have no idea," she forces out. Her shoulders bunch up a little more, and he makes a mental note to better avoid that particular topic. "He drives me nuts."

He laughs and digs his thumbs in a little deeper, and that lets Ziva's attention slip abruptly. Her head sags forward and her eyes close, and then she _moans_ and murmurs, "God, you are too good at this..."

"Mhmm," he hums appreciatively while he inches closer. He can't help it, really, and she doesn't shove her elbow into his ribs, so he assumes for now she's okay with it. "Tell me more."

She gives him a throaty laugh, and yeah, he knows she's just distracted and she doesn't mean it like it feels on his skin. He still can't help the urge to lean into her and breathe in the scent of her shampoo. "It's no wonder McGee thinks there's something going on with us," he chuckles.

Ziva doesn't tense up outright, but she loses a bit of her relaxed stance and turns her head so she can look at him over her shoulder. "He does?"

Tony blinks. Swallows hard and wonders if he just made a mistake in telling her. If she'll draw back now and not let him touch her anymore. "Yeaaah. He cornered me earlier. And he was kind of blunt about it."

She's quiet while she mulls that one over, and part of him thinks this would be a good moment to step back and get some distance between them, just for appearance's sake. And to make it very clear that McGee was very obviously mistaken here. He just happened to watch them at the wrong moment.

But Tony finds that he can't let go now just yet. Because if he tries a little honesty with himself for once, he can't deny the fact that he really likes being this close to Ziva. He likes touching her, always has. He just likes it a little more since she started reacting to it. And it's weird, but she still hasn't urged him to take his hands off her.

"What did you tell him?" she asks eventually. Her voice is all calm and composed, but her gaze flicks up to meet his for a second, and that's when his heart stumbles over itself because there's more to that question. He suddenly finds himself thinking just as hard as Ziva a mere minute ago. And just like her, it doesn't get him anywhere.

"The usual," he shrugs in the end. His thumbs still draw slow circles between her shoulder blades, but he's distracted now by juggling truth and status quo. "Neither confirmed nor denied it. Keeping the mystery alive, you know."

He's confused when a hint of frustration flickers across her face. A fresh wave of tension creeps into her shoulders, and he doesn't want that, he wants her back to being relaxed and leaning into him and being a little noisy about it. But this is the moment to break apart after all because he hears steps coming down the hall, and so he never gets the opportunity to tell her that his talk with McGee may have been a little closer on the traitorous side.

*** *** ***

He gets a kick out of her voice all low and husky on the phone, even though he's not quite sure what provoked that. But then she calls him 'sweetheart', and he kinda likes the sound of that. And yeah. He supposes he could get used to that.

*** *** ***

He can't help the grin when they lead Brett out and the Lieutenant Commander shoots a glance at Ziva. Tony knows she's well aware of the look, but she doesn't react at all, she just keeps typing her report with these neatly timed keystrokes and a smug little smile ghosting around the corners of her mouth. _That's what you get for messing with the ninja._

He dots his Is and crosses his Ts and finally powers down his computer, but even though they have long reached the point where they should end the day and go home, he doesn't really feel like it. He rather feels like celebrating because this was a pretty cool case and they cracked it, nice and smooth. And yeah, maybe because they haven't done this in a while, too. Not for feeling good at least. Just once or twice for getting over the bad things more easily.

"Come on," he says and grabs his backpack before he saunters over to Ziva's desk. She doesn't react outright, just gives him a curious glance and a quick smile, and so he sits on the edge of her desk until she has no chance but to acknowledge him. "Drinks are on me."

She blinks, then tilts her head and looks at him curiously. "Are you mortally ill and want to make your peace with the world?"

He gives her a grin, and it comes out as one of the loud, intrusive ones. The kind of grin that splits his face and puts big, fat dimples into his cheeks and usually makes Ziva smile in return before she even notices it herself. Just like now, when he leans a little closer and says in his best sincere-and-honest voice, "No. I just want to get you drunk."

And just like that, she gives him exactly the kind of smile he's been going for. "Oh," she says and winks at him. "In that case..."

He's still grinning like an idiot when she grabs her stuff and joins him. It's probably a good thing McGee isn't here anymore to watch this.

*** *** ***

His hand ends up in the small of her back while they're waiting for the elevator, and he doesn't even notice it until she leans into him. Just a bit, just enough to make him feel it. He turns his head to look at her, and that's when Ziva realizes what she's doing, too. They break apart like they were just caught doing something they're not supposed to be doing, and for the few seconds it takes until the arriving elevator allows them to step out of their blunder, they radiate an almost mcgeeish awkwardness.

Tony breathes out carefully when he steps into the cabin. For a heartbeat an overwhelming sensation of relief washes over him. Relief that they -- once more -- navigated around a moment that could have stirred the muddy waters of their friendship and partnership and relationship and could have turned this into something else instead. Something scarily exciting and different. Except that maybe it wouldn't even feel all that different. Maybe. (And that's the scary part.)

But then the cabin starts to move, and that's when Ziva suddenly takes a deep breath and flips the emergency switch. And just like that, Tony's throat is tight, and panic washes over him.

She seems just as hesitant as he feels right now, and it takes her a few seconds until she's calm enough to turn and face him. He leans back against the cool metal wall and grabs the hand rail. His stance relaxes while she eyes him warily, until he's almost slouching against the wall. It's his version of a poker face. He can't trust his facial expressions right now, so he has to rely on body language for distraction.

Ziva's eyes are narrowed when she finally meets his gaze, and he knows the face she's giving him now. He's seen it before, each and every time she's had enough and decided to get to the bottom of things. Which is vaguely scary in their new context.

"Tony," she starts out, and she draws out his name as if that buys her some time. "You know I'm not a very... patient... person..."

Her voice trails off, and he watches her face. He's jumpy now because he's not sure where this is going. (Even though his gut is.) And he's torn, because his whole being screams at him to inform him just how much he doesn't want to have this conversation. 

Except, maybe, he does want it. At least a little. Because the possible outcome doesn't look all bad.

Ziva takes another deep breath when he doesn't reply and just looks at her with his jaw locked tight and his brows drawn together. "Is..." She hesitates and makes a wavy gesture with her hand, back and forth between them while she does her best to encompass the whole cabin. As if merely indicating just him and her would make the Yard go up in flames. 

Her frown deepens when he still doesn't say anything, and she tilts her head. "Is this... going somewhere?" 

He blinks, and yeah, he knows what she's asking, but he can't acknowledge that. He just can't. Not yet. So he says, "I was thinking Fellini's." Her face clouds over, and he blabs on before she can voice her displeasure. "They have these great drinks, and happy hour is--"

"That's not what I meant."

He closes his mouth and meets her eyes, and he's not sure what to say to that. Again.

In the end, he settles for "Weren't you the one who said we need time?" Her face is very open and very vulnerable all of a sudden, and he's not sure what she's thinking right now. But he _is_ sure he wants her to stop looking at him like he just kicked a puppy. 

"I didn't mean you and me when I said that," she murmurs, and look at that, no boom, world's still on its axis. She doesn't tell him what she meant, though, and she's even further from letting slip what she wants from him now. She just looks at him and wills him to give her _something,_ and he's not sure how to do that and still get it right.

"How are things with Ray?" he asks eventually, and now her face says he may have just as well kicked _her._

"Still over," she says with her chin coming up. "And I intend to keep it that way."

"Does he know that?"

She deflates a little at that. But her chin stays up and she keeps holding his gaze. God, he loves her when she's like that. Stubborn. "I stopped writing him, didn't I?"

"Yeah," he says and purses his lips. "That did a whole lot of good last time."

Something flickers across her face, and he can't really tell if she's hurt or feels challenged now, but before he can make up his mind, she takes another deep breath. Then she turns, away from him, back to the elevator doors, and she's already reaching for the switch to bring the cabin and their lives back on track, back to what they usually do. Going down, not up.

He's moving before he knows it, and Ziva freezes when his hand covers hers. He can tell she feels him in her back, almost as if he were pressing right up and into her. Her breathing picks up a faster pace, too, just like that, and he's pretty sure that he'd feel her heartbeat hammering against his chest if he'd take that last tiny step and pull her against his body. But he can't really do that, yet. Even if he were just a little more brave, there's still so much they need to deal with before they can... what, really? Move on? Move up? 

She's still standing stiffly. Her back is very straight while Tony keeps running his thumb along hers until, eventually, a soft shudder runs through her and she lowers her arm as if she no longer has any strength left. He still doesn't let go of her hand, though, because he's pretty sure if he does that, she'll be up and away and he _will_ have blown this. 

He knows he needs to say something, soon, or she'll leave him anyway. And yet, he can't seem to come up with a good way to tell her that, yeah, he'd like this to go... somewhere. That he'd like to keep touching her, and smelling her, and being close to her. Because it feels good, and because _he_ feels good when he's allowed to do this. 

But things are complicated, and things don't simply feel good forever, there's always something that intrudes and interrupts and kills the best intentions to just keep it flowing nicely. And if he really starts to think about it, he's scared to death to screw this one up. This, what they have, that's too important to get it wrong, and there won't be any bonus rounds or reboots like in one of McGee's games, just more pain and no more touching if he pushes the wrong button now. He opens his mouth to say something, but the crippling fear of choosing the wrong path clenches around his heart, and so he concentrates on just breathing while he leans into her, just a little. It's hard enough to do that.

Another shudder runs through her while Tony is still busy with all the thoughts whirling around in his head, busy with grasping just one of them out of the tumble of emotions, just so he can make sense out of his own wants and needs and what's good for them and what isn't. He's so wrapped up in trying to come to terms with all of this, all the possibilities, that it takes him a moment to notice how her fingers move against his. How her hand twists in his until she can return the gentle squeeze. And, oh, yeah: how she interlaces her fingers with his while she leans back, just enough so he can really feel her. Warmth radiates from her body, but the thing Tony suddenly concentrates on as hard as he can is the thrumming pulse in her fingers and the way he feels it against his own.

It's funny, really, but it almost feels as if she gets it before he does. And suddenly he knows that maybe he doesn't need to say anything after all.

Ziva breathes out in a sigh, and he turns his head, just enough so he can brush his lips across her cheek. It's the mere ghost of a touch, but it seems to be enough for now because something relaxes inside her. He can feel it. It's not something he can put his finger on, but it's a start. And it doesn't feel half bad.


	5. Nightcap

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happening during and after episode 9x05 "Safe Harbor", so yes, spoilers for that episode. And please don't kill me yet. ;)

Ziva is strangely quiet when they get off the ship, and he knows something happened between her and that woman before Gibbs does. But Papa Bear isn't far behind on the awareness front and gives her a few of his patented sideways glances on the ride back to the Yard. But Ziva doesn't even seem to notice that. She's too lost in her own thoughts, and so she merely keeps staring out of the passenger side window until Gibbs finally cracks and asks her if she's okay.

The question is uttered quietly, and McGee, lost in his notes and already typing them up while balancing his laptop on his knees, doesn't even notice. But Tony hears the softly spoken words, and he blinks and looks out the window, too, trying to see what Ziva sees. Trying desperately not to look as if he's listening in.

"Yes," she replies eventually, just this one word, and it's so quiet and subdued that Tony wants to smack her for lying. Apparently, Gibbs feels the same because he shoots her another glance that makes her sigh. "I'm fine, Gibbs." She hesitates, and Tony waits, just like it's always been. His fingers tap-dance on his knee, and he wonders why McGee doesn't notice the tension piling up in the car. _That's the reason I'll always call you Probie._

"We talked about family," she says just then, and with everyone else this wouldn't have explained anything. But Gibbs nods in sudden understanding, and so Ziva goes back to staring out of the window. Tony can see her reflection in the glass. The sad little smile that plays around the corners of her mouth tugs at his heart, makes him feel weird, and he has to fight the urge to reach out and touch her, just to make her stop looking like that. "She said I'd make a good mother."

There's something in her voice that turns Tony's fingertapping into something frantic. He suddenly wants to tell the worst joke he ever heard, just to distract her from that hint of mourning that rings in her words.

He's saved from making a fool out of himself when Gibbs snickers. "Ninja babies," he says, and his mouth curves into a rare smile. "That'll make one hell of a Halloween."

Ziva echoes the smile, but it's a short-lived one, and Tony's skin prickles because it's not that easy. Not if she looks like that. Like they just buried another friend.

"Well, I'll never know," she says with a tiny shrug. Her voice is low enough that McGee still doesn't hear a word she says. But Tony does. And suddenly he dreads every syllable that is yet to come. "I lost that option when I joined Mossad."

Gibbs blinks, then turns his head to stare at her until she comes out of her own thoughts and meets his eyes.

"Female members of the Kidon unit are strongly encouraged to ensure they cannot conceive in captivity," she explains. Soft surprise rings in her voice. "I thought you knew."

_No, I didn't._

None of them knew, Tony's pretty sure about that, and he's suddenly glad that McGee is so engrossed in his notes. That way he won't tell Abby, and she won't have a reason to freak or look at Ziva with these wide puppy dog eyes she gets whenever she feels too much for her own good.

Ziva's eyes flick up to the rear-view mirror, and Tony freezes when she catches him watching her. Her breath hitches in her throat, and her face is suddenly pale. That's how he knows she knows. 

He wants to apologize for hearing it, he really does. He's just not sure how. He's not even sure how to deal with that look on her face.

Gibbs looks at her again when the silence in the car gets deafening. His gaze jumps from her face to the mirror, and now Tony wants to hide because he really doesn't want to explain why he's having a staring contest with his partner about this. But then, just when he thinks he could use a knife to cut the tension, McGee finally notices that something is going on, and the Probie raises his head to look around. Confused innocence is painted all over his face, and Gibbs turns his attention back to the street and says with a little shrug, "You'd be surprised what doctors can do these days, Ziver."

McGee frowns a little and waits for an explanation, but when none is coming he shrugs and concentrates on his report once more.

Ziva's face is turned to the side, but Tony can see her reflection, and he's got a pretty good view of her emotions suddenly going all over the place.

There's more silence, and eventually Gibbs reaches over to give her hand a quick, gentle squeeze. It makes her smile. It's a sad one, but it's still a smile.

McGee doesn't notice. But Tony does.

*** *** ***

"Got something," she mutters long after the office has turned dark, and Tony rubs his tired eyes. They have looked for so long now that it feels like they already spent half the night here, and it's wearing him thin. He's not twenty anymore. It's nights like this one when he notices it painfully.

He glances at Ziva and waits for her to elaborate, but she doesn't, she just keeps staring at her screen and her face clouds over a little. He's on his feet before he realizes it himself, and the movement brings Ziva's chin up. 

She shoots him a fleeting glance while he walks over to her desk. "They had a daughter," she says before she scrutinizes her screen again. "She was killed in a bombing."

"Terrorists?"

"No." Her frown deepens a little while she scrolls down the page. "US troops, actually."

He can't help the whistle at this little tidbit of information. "When was this? Recently?"

"No." Tony waits for more of an explanation, but she offers none, so he leans over her shoulder and reads the fact sheet himself.

"Saraya," he says and stares at the photo of a little girl, maybe three or four. Huge brown eyes and a killer smile, that's all he sees at first. Then the curls. Lots of them. "Cute girl."

Ziva nods, then scrolls down further and pulls up more data. He knows he should notice the circumstances under which the girl was killed. He also knows he should probably try to find out why the girl was that close to a Hezbollah training camp and that he should come up with a good theory about how all of this fits in with their pile of refugees and what they're doing here now. But the only things on the sheet that really grab his attention are the girl's dates of birth and death. That and the way Ziva stares at her screen. Like she's seen a ghost.

And then he kind of gets it, and before he can help it he murmurs, "She'd be your age now."

She blinks and stares at the picture, and there's another reflex he can't help. The one that lately makes him reach out and touch her and run his hand down her back slowly. For a second she stiffens more, and he's tempted to pull back. It seems easier not to invade her privacy now, not to press her until she accepts his support. These are things Ziva doesn't do well, and he knows it'll take a fair amount of pushing until she agrees this is a good thing. If ever.

But then, just when he hesitates and his fingers itch and almost leave her back, he stares at the soft curve of her neck and the tiny curls at the base of it, and he thinks it's probably worth it to push a little further right now.

It's funny, really, that this turns into the exact moment where he feels some of the tension flow out of her, just before she leans into his touch. It's just a tiny shift, but it's an important one, and his attention couldn't be any further away from the computer screen suddenly.

"She looks more like Tali, actually," she says. He's not sure he ever heard her voice this soft before -- emotional. It scares him a little.

"Ziva," he says, and while his hand travels up her back again, she turns her head and looks at him. He's not sure what to say, and so he just squeezes her shoulder gently while he searches for the right words. "Don't let this muddle your judgment, okay?" he sighs eventually.

She gives him a sad little smile and tilts her head back, and right now he's really tempted to lean down and kiss her, just to feel that smile against his lips. "Of course not," she says just when the urge gets a little too much, and then she turns back to her computer. 

He's never seen her be such a bad liar before.

*** *** ***

He knows it's Ziva before she calls his name. (Before she rounds the corner, even.) That's nothing out of the ordinary. But what is decidedly different this time is the flash of recognition on Farid Bawali's face before he starts to run.

He knows Ziva, too. And that's never a good thing.

*** *** ***

He doesn't want to admit it, not even to himself, but by the end of the day he has to: he is concerned about his partner.

He knows why she chose to stay behind with Mariam, glued to her side and helping her through the confusion and the massive changes in her life. He knows the woman needs that, needs someone to lean on, now more than ever, now that her world has fallen into pieces and come back together in a whole new pattern. And he knows that in some ways Ziva needs that, too. She needs a friend.

That doesn't make it any better for him, though. Not when he saw her face and the way her eyes flicked all over the place whenever she thought nobody's looking. He knows she's troubled, and he knows it's maybe even worse than meeting Eli last year was. He's just not sure what to do about it, and so it takes him the rest of the day, until she rushes out of the office with a mumbled greeting, to realize this isn't over just yet.

*** *** ***

Her hair is loose and curls all over her shoulders when she opens the door for him, and she looks so gorgeous and soft and vaguely sleepy that he can't do anything more intelligent than stare at her for a moment. Then he clears his throat and lets the charmer's smile take over while he raises one of the bags he brought along. There's mild confusion rising in her eyes, and that's not what he wants. He wants her happy and sated and relaxed. (It's actually his main mission for the evening.)

"Kai Yang salad," he says. _The one you like most._ "And jasmine tea. _And_ a bottle of scotch and _'Avatar'_ for later." His grin grows more crooked while her face grows more confused. "Thought you could use a distraction."

She cocks her head and gives him a slight frown, as if she's unsure whether she really wants company tonight. "My shower was distraction enough for one day," she sighs eventually, but still steps aside so he can saunter into her apartment.

She has to wait for that because he's taking a few moments to thoroughly appreciate the image her words bring up in his head. "Details," he says while his grin turns suggestive. "I need cold, hard facts to form an opinion about the quality of your shower distractions, Special Agent David."

He half expects her to roll her eyes or close the door in his face after all, but for some reason it makes her laugh. Go figure.

*** *** ***

"... and then Jenny turned around and glared at me and asked 'Who the hell are you?'" She ends her story with such a cute little snicker that Tony can't fight the vaguely stupid grin that suddenly wants out.

"And that's when you liked her," he says. It comes out a lot more affectionate than he planned but Ziva doesn't seem to mind.

"And that's when I liked her," she confirms and leans a little closer. They've been facing each other on the couch for a while now, him with his arm propped up, as if he'd like to put it around her shoulder maybe, and Ziva curled up with her feet tucked under and leaning against the backrest. She could rest her cheek easily on his arm like that, and from the way she looks at him right now she'd maybe even do that if she were a more snuggly person. "I miss her," she suddenly says, and that shocks him a little because they don't do that, usually. They don't let the other look inside if they can help it.

"Yeah," he manages to force out eventually. That's as far as he can go in returning the favor. Ziva nods and gives him a sympathetic little smile to show him she gets it. It's not the part that surprises him. That comes when she leans against his arm after all. 

His heart suddenly stumbles all over itself while he watches her face, all relaxed and soft, and dear God, right now he's really tempted to cross those last few inches and find out if she feels as soft as she looks right now.

"Why are you here tonight, Tony?" Her voice is a low murmur, like she's half asleep already. He likes hearing her voice like this. It would probably feel pretty good to have her mumble sleepy things against his skin on an early morning.

He blinks and pulls himself out of it. At least he tries to, but her curls brush against his skin now, and he can't help running his fingertips through them. "For a story about an old friend," he says. Her mouth curves into a slow smile, and he stares at her lips until he can't fight the urge to reach out and wipe a drop of dressing from her lower lip. Her eyes widen a little, and yeah, he knows he just slipped up. This is really not what they usually do, and he gives her a quick smile to cover for it. "For a salad you enjoyed a little too much." She doesn't pull away. Maybe that's why his thumb lingers a little longer than absolutely necessary. "And to return a favor."

"Huh," she says and tilts her head back a little so she can get a better look at him. Her cheek bone rests against his arm now, and it's hard to breathe, for some reason. "You hate _'Avatar'_."

 _You love it._ He doesn't say it, of course, just lowers his eyes and tries to hide the fact that his smile turns a little bit awkward. "I can sit through three hours of mostly naked blue chick if it takes your mind off things." Her laugh rubs against his skin, and he has no idea why his fingers in her hair suddenly develop a life of their own. _Especially if she reminds me of you._

She keeps looking at him so open and soft, and he's not sure if it's that look or his own thoughts wandering all over the place that bring up sudden panic in his throat. Because it suddenly feels like this is going somewhere.

"How did you know Lateef?" That does the trick, sadly. Her face closes up hard and fast, and he's torn between the need to apologize and a rush of relief about the detour his mouth has enforced. 

She stays like she is, though, with her cheek against his arm, blinking slowly why she thinks about his question. The silence stretches between them, and he doesn't really mind that, as long as he gets to play with her hair and maybe brush his fingers against her neck every once in a while.

"I interrogated him once," she suddenly says, and he wonders why she decided to tell him that.

"And he still has all his limbs?" he jokes.

Ziva shrugs and curls up a little tighter on the couch, and he'd be willing to swear she just inched a little closer to him. "He has a few nasty scars, I presume."

He's not sure what to make of her expression and even less sure if she wants him to keep pushing now. But that's what he came for, right? To help her get back on track. 

"What did he do?"

Her eyes flick down and then seem to get stuck on his mouth for some reason, and for a moment he thinks she won't answer him. That he misread her and she didn't want him to ask and just needed a bit of mindless distraction after all.

"He was suspected to be behind the bombing that killed my sister."

She still doesn't meet his eyes, just blinks slowly and maybe waits for his reaction. Her eyelashes brush against his arm, right on the inside where his skin is so sensitive, and that distracts him even more while he tries to get his whirling thoughts to stop.

"And he still has all his limbs?" he finally repeats, and that makes Ziva laugh even while her eyes don't.

"It was a close call," she shrugs, and that brings her another notch closer. He can't help it suddenly, his arm curls a little so his fingers can brush along her neck and then down her back until she hums. Her eyes are still locked on his mouth, and he wonders what she's thinking now. If it's as distracting a thought as the ones that stampede through his own head.

Oh, God, he really wants to kiss her.

And maybe that thought was a little louder than ncessary, or maybe she's just having the same one, but she suddenly leans towards him, and that's not an accident, that's deliberate, that's her mouth going for his, and she's about to... he's... _oh, goddammit._

"Don't hurt me," he presses out, and she finally looks up to meet his gaze again. A curious expression flits across her face.

"Why would I?"

He breathes out slowly and curses his own instincts because yeah, this would be a good time to let go of her and get a little space between them. He just can't.

"Because I don't think this is a good idea," he murmurs.

She doesn't hurt him. She also doesn't pull back. Doesn't even tense a little, just keeps looking at him with that curious little frown drawing her eyebrows together and her gorgeous lips slightly parted until he's about to ask himself if he's just a temporary nutcase or if he was born that way.

"In general?" she finally asks. "Or just tonight?"

He wants to kiss her even harder for getting it, but yeah, that would pretty much defeat the purpose, and so he just sighs. Maybe leans a little closer after all while he shrugs and replies, "Going in while there's this whole shebang of families and mothers and daughters on your mind... I don't know."

Her frown deepens, and he's pretty sure that wasn't the best way to put it because her tone is suddenly slightly edgy. "You think I just want a white cricket fence now and start making babies?"

He's torn between the urge to correct her and staying on topic, and after a few more breaths the latter wins out for once. Yeah, sometimes he knows a good choice, and it doesn't even have to bite him in the ass. "Can you rule it out completely?"

She rolls that one around in her head for a while, and while he still thinks she earns quite a bunch of brownie points for trying not to get angry with him, she tops it off with a little sigh. "Mostly," she says, her voice laced with a hint of regret. "But not completely, no." Then she stares at his mouth once more, and there's that soft sigh again, the one that's hardly louder than a breath. "I'd still like to kiss you."

His stomach drops out on him because the damn butterflies stopped beating their wings all at the same time. His lips itch suddenly, and his fingers tangle in her hair. He wonders when it became so hard to keep breathing. In and out, shouldn't be that tough, right?

She's not moving, she's leaving it up to him, and in the end that's what stops it from happening. 

"Rain check on the kissing?" It's a relief when she echoes his smile and isn't all that mad at him. Just a little. Because apparently she really wanted to kiss him. _This isn't helping._ "And tonight you'll get some booze instead, and a slightly worn shoulder to lean on. If you want, I mean."

Her smile deepens, and she rubs her cheek against his arm a little. "I'll take one of these," she says. 

It isn't until she curls up in his arm that he realizes she didn't choose the booze.


	6. What's Right, Tonight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happening during and after the episode 9x06 "Thirst", so yes, spoilers for that episode.

Tony DiNozzo never was a man of great subtlety, that much is sure. (He can easily come up with several dozen people who would sign that statement in a heartbeat.) But this time even he has to admit that it's sometimes the subtle things that change a relationship more profoundly than the loud ones, and even though he usually loathes the mere notion of subtlety (and change) with a fiery passion, he now finds himself intrigued by the difference it makes to know what it feels like to have Ziva David curled up against him.

They don't talk about it later, and they don't revisit the moment. He's not sure why. There's certainly no regret involved. 

It just never comes up, really. It does bring them closer, though, on a very subtle level. He's tempted to say it focuses them. Makes them more aware of what's going on. And sometimes it makes them stare at the other's mouth and wonder.

*** *** ***

It brings another change, and that's the feeling of having their own special secret. It's a neat little thrill that rushes down his back while they're talking about sources and gossip, because he can see she knows he hasn't talked about that evening with anyone. It makes him smile at her just a little bit more suggestively, and while McGee rolls his eyes at what he believes is dirty innuendo, Ziva suddenly tilts her head as if she just realized it wasn't dirty at all, it was intimate instead.

He may not be the most trustworthy person when it comes to office gossip (let's face it, as soon as it has turned into gossip already there's no point in keeping it under locks anyway, right?) but some things -- the things that really matter in the long run -- these things he can keep to himself amazingly well.

*** *** ***

Later, she asks him why he's being like this, and he knows she's talking about him blabbing to Ducky when there was no good reason for it. He shrugs and doesn't have a good answer for her. He's not sure himself.

Sometimes it's just a lot easier for him to snoop around in other people's lives. Keeps him from wondering too much about his own.

*** *** ***

Mary's been heavily sedated and effectively knocked out for over an hour now. She's also secured to her bed, and there's no way she'll get out of that room any time soon. He knows there's no reason to keep watching her this tightly. And yet, Tony can't stop staring at her.

She looks so... normal.

That's the thing that throws him off the most: she doesn't look like a whack job. She's just this pretty, well-mannered lady who loves to cook, and she made Ducky fall for her, so she must be a real Ms. Smartypants, too. (And yes, he is well aware of the irony that even after all these years some part of his mind insists that you should be able to spot the loony, somehow.)

For a moment the Brenda incident rears its ugly head. It's not a comfortable memory, and he feels itchy when he remembers how he felt back then -- torn between asking himself why he slept with her in the first place and wondering why he hadn't noticed how messed up she was inside. How lonely, despite all the people she knew.

He blinks and steps back from the glass, not to give Mary some privacy after all, but to walk away from his own thoughts. McGee turns his head and looks at him, and for a second Tony is sure the Probie noticed something off about him. He's not too comfortable with that thought, and so he moves a few steps down the hall and pretends he just wants to get some coffee when he really needs a bit of space. 

There's also a certain irony in the fact that he runs into Ziva as soon as he decides he needs a moment of alone time.

He has his mouth open and gets ready to deliver a bad pun when he sees something in her expression that makes him hesitate. There's a reason why she isn't home after all. Why she came back to the hospital and looks at him now with her gaze flitting around and never quite meeting his. Maybe it's even connected to his own reasons.

"You okay?" It takes a bit of an effort to swallow the bad joke and ask this instead. Ziva doesn't reply, she just stares at him as if he lost his mind. Apparently, they're both not used to acting like normal people around each other.

He keeps searching her face because he needs to know what's up with her suddenly. Why she's here, with him, and not home alone and curled up with a mug of tea on her couch. Why she looks like she's about to cling to him and bury her face in his chest every second now.

They both jump when McGee catches up with them. The Probie lets out a surprised sound, then he asks Ziva what she's doing here. There's a vague trace of guilt on Ziva's face suddenly, and for some reason Tony is sure she's mirroring him there. He certainly feels guilty, looking at Ziva like that -- like she's just here for him and like he knows and appreciates it.

McGee watches her struggle for a second, then his eyes suddenly flick back and forth between them. If this were a cartoon, Tony thinks, this would be the exact moment where the light bulb starts to blink over the Probie's head. He's not sure what it is that McGee realizes, but it's enough to make Timmy say, "Oh."

Ziva looks away then, and Tony is left staring at her, not sure what's going on anymore. Then McGee shuffles his feet and murmurs, "Okay, go home, you two. I'll hold the fort until Gibbs takes over."

Tony blinks and shoots a quick glance at McGee, who is in turn busy trying to catch Ziva's gaze. There's the slightest blush staining her cheeks, and McGee suddenly has this knowing expression that doesn't really work with his baby face. It confuses Tony. Makes him feel like he missed something.

Then Ziva turns and walks away, and yeah, he should probably voice his protest about any assumptions taking place here, on either side of the fence. But for some reason he can't. He just nods at McGee and follows Ziva. He leaves it up to her where she wants to take them.

*** *** ***

They leave the sedan for McGee and take her car. It's a quiet ride to his apartment. They're both still lost in their own thoughts and don't connect them yet, so they let the silence pile up around them. It's not as uncomfortable as it would be with anyone else, though, which makes Tony's mind go off on a tangent. He tries to figure out when exactly they learned to be with each other like this -- quiet, without the need to produce mindless chatter. Just being, for a change. He's not completely used to it yet. (Moments like this one remind him of it.) But it's not the worst feeling to know there's no need for pretending.

Ziva seems to be done with pretending, too. He knows she's troubled. He doesn't even have to guess or listen to his gut or the part of him that's so attuned to her. She's radiating her worry so loudly this time that it distracts him from his own scattered thoughts and focuses him on his partner instead.

He's not surprised when she drives to his apartment. And it seems almost normal when she parks the car and then gets out to follow him upstairs.

*** *** ***

He tries not to think about where this is leading because it would most likely freak him out. He just takes her coat and runs a hand down her back in a vaguely comforting gesture. Ziva stares at him with suddenly wide eyes, and he shrugs and ducks his head.

"You need anything?" he asks, and he means it in the way of something to drink or kicking off her shoes, but even he realizes the lurking potential of the question as soon as it leaves his mouth.

For a heartbeat or two Ziva looks incredibly conflicted. He sees the struggle going on behind her eyes, and he freaks after all because it's another one of these moments that might lead somewhere -- depending on which of Ziva's urges wins this fight.

Then she takes a deep breath and digs out her phone while she does her best to avoid his eyes. "I'm starving," she says. "Pizza or Chinese?"

"Pizza," he replies and tries not to be disappointed.

*** *** ***

He gets curious when she inhales a slice and then quickly loses interest again. It's not the lack of food that's really troubling her, apparently. 

She's lost in thought again and keeps wiping her fingers on a paper napkin until Tony puts his own pizza away and looks at her straight on. His brows furrow while he patiently waits for her to spill it. (She wants to. She wouldn't be here otherwise.) He tries to make his expression an encouraging one, but from the way she returns his stare he's not sure he succeeds.

"Come on, Ziva," he finally says. She flinches a little, probably because he has used those words on her before, with little effect. 

He hates the fact that he needs to do this. That he needs to be the pushy one. But she's here, on his couch, in the middle of the night. And from the way her expression suddenly goes all over the place he can tell she needs him to push this time. Coming here is as far as she can go on her own.

"What's going on in that pretty head of yours?" he says and reaches for her before he can help it. Ziva stares at him while he twists a strand of her hair around his fingertips. It brings a spark of their newfound intimacy with each other, but even though she leans a little closer to him out of reflex she still looks away eventually. Her teeth worry her lower lip, and he knows he really shouldn't stare at her mouth like that. But the way she sucks on her lip now makes him want to lean over and distract her the way he knows best. It's really a shame they don't do that sort of thing. 

"I've been thinking," she says eventually, and Tony works hard on not giving her a smart-ass remark about it. "Have you ever noticed how every... relationship..." Her voice trails off and her eyes get even more shifty. She doesn't really want to go there. And that's what makes him curious. Has to be something really big if she's forcing herself to go through with it. "How everything we attempt to have outside of work falls apart?"

He blinks and rolls that one around in his head for a while. He's still not sure where she's going with this. His first reflex is to come up with examples to counter her theory, but the only one that comes to mind is EJ, and she doesn't really cut it because she never was outside of work. And it didn't exactly end in puppies and roses either. 

But it's not just them. It's Gibbs, too. And Abby, and Ducky. McGee, who keeps hooking up with weird girls. Strangely, the only happy and stable relationship he has seen over the past ten years is Palmer and his girl. 

"Everything in my life falls apart sooner or later," he shrugs. He tries to make it sound lighthearted and like a joke, and with everyone else he might have succeeded. But Ziva has always seen right through him, and so she looks at him with a kind of understanding that turns his emotions upside down before he has a chance to bring his defenses up.

"Except us," she says softly.

His heart jumps to a techno beat, and it takes him a second to catch his wits. It doesn't help that Ziva's eyes are wide and shocked now, as if she can't believe she said that one out loud.

"Yeah," he agrees eventually. (There's no use in denying the obvious, really, even though he loves to do that most of the time.)

Her eyes widen a bit more, and whatever's been eating away at her, it's suddenly right there and right under the surface. She breathes out slowly and looks away again. Her voice is suddenly strained. "Do you think that's a good thing?"

He frowns and tries to figure out what she means, and to his own surprise this turns into one of these moments where he just... _gets_ her. All of her, completely, with the crazy ideas running around in her head, with her insecurities and the motherload of emotional baggage. (Not that he's gonna point fingers there, no siree.) He suddenly looks at her and completely understands where she's going with this and why it's bothering her so much.

"You think we're just each other's fallback?"

Ziva looks down at her hands and spends the next few seconds fussing with her own fingers. The little frown is back, and she's thinking hard in the middle of looking vaguely guilty because he called her out so effortlessly.

"I don't know," she finally admits. "But we do seem to come back to these -- these feelings whenever we are disappointed by others." She doesn't look at him, keeps her gaze locked on her hands, and he keeps staring at her because this time he has trouble trusting his hearing.

He's really not used to this being open thing. _Really._ And there's a part of him that suddenly itches uncomfortably because it doesn't want him to get used to this -- to being vulnerable. It's a reflex, born out of self-preservation and long years of just doing what he wants.

Ziva gives him a tiny shrug and then the ghost of a smile while she tries to pull this into a more lighthearted direction. "Maybe it just seems easier because we know exactly what to expect from each other."

He blinks and stares at her in a way that probably looks pretty stupid. He can't help it, though, he's too baffled. "Uhm. _This_ is easy?" he asks, and Ziva laughs and raises her hand to push a wayward strand of hair out of her face.

"You know what I mean," she says, and yeah, he does. Which is exactly why her words make a little too much sense right now. Which is also why he's suddenly scared.

He doesn't want her to be right. Not about this. Because it would mean he's just a possessive, overprotective, jealous bastard after all, and it would mean he doesn't really lo--

He takes a deep, slow breath and raises a hand to rub his neck. It's an awkward gesture, and he's too aware of it. "Well, everyone's entitled to their theories..." he replies slowly, and Ziva actually rolls her eyes at him.

"Is that your subtle way of telling me I talk crap?" She says it with a little smile tugging at her lips, but he hears the faint trace of insecurity in her question. Like she wants him to tell her exactly that, but isn't sure he can.

"You're the Probie, so of cou--"

"I'm no longer a Probie, Tony."

"In these things? Yeah, you are. Takes at least one happy, stable and sane relationship to lose that status." He doesn't realize he shot himself in the foot with that one until Ziva tilts her head and stares at him.

"Huh," she says. She doesn't even have to voice the rest of it. (He's still waiting for her to do it, though. It's their thing, after all --- rubbing in the obvious.) 

And then he sees something shift in her face, and he scrolls back through his own words and finds that, for the first time, he has lumped them and the term relationship together. That this whole evening is the closest they have both ever come to talk about any of... this. What they have. Maybe even what they want out of it.

He knows there's something close to shock on his own face, and that leaves him vaguely scared because dammit, he's still not prepared for any of this. And he has no idea how to proceed here, really. Because he wants to do this right. He wants this to be happy and stable. And sane, yeah. Sane would be nice.

Ziva is still thinking, and so he gives her one more awkward shrug and then waits for what she has to say. (Yeah, he's a coward sometimes.) He has to admit, though, he really doesn't expect her to ask for a shirt she can borrow.

"I don't want to go home," she explains when he stares at her as if she just grew a particularly fancy set of antlers. 

She quickly clarifies that she means a movie and maybe falling asleep on his couch, not his bed. (She doesn't spell out the bed part, but he can fill in the blanks easily after all these years.) His heart still pounds in his throat while he gets up and digs out one of his old OSU shirts for her. The one that's big enough to hide any possibly tempting parts of her. Just in case.

*** *** ***

He doesn't remember falling asleep, but he must have, since he wakes from the soft brush of lips against his. He leans into the sensation for a moment because it's a nice way to wake up, even though his couch isn't all that comfortable. It's small enough as it is, but when he shares it with Z--

His eyes snap open, and he jerks so hard that he almost knocks his partner off the couch. His shock only lasts for a second, and his arm comes up around her waist in reflex before she can actually fall, but her eyes widen nonetheless at his reaction.

"I'm sorry," she mutters before he can even begin to process the situation. 

Tony blinks and stares at her, and that's when she starts squirming a little in his arms. _Oh, dear God, he's actually on his couch, and Ziva's a little too close for comfort and only dressed in his shirt._ He blinks some more and opens his mouth, but all that comes out is, "Uhm..."

What he really means is _'Why did you just kiss me?'_ but even he can't voice a question this stupid. He knows why people kiss. (He _really_ knows.) He's just confused by the concept of Ziva doing it. To him. 

He likes it, no doubt about that. But his mind still hasn't made all the transitions necessary, and Ziva knows that, too. She has trouble meeting his eyes now, but she tries. Her chin even comes up a little, and she looks vaguely stubborn all of a sudden. 

"I needed to try this out." He's confused by her words, and she sees it and her resolve fades away just as fast as it came. Her eyes get all shifty, and she even starts squirming as if she wants to get up, but since he is still kind of tangled up with her it doesn't work. "It was just a test, okay?"

"A test? For what?"

She squirms a little more, but when he doesn't let go of her, she breathes out in a sigh. "To see if it feels good." That doesn't really explain anything, and so Tony keeps watching her until she gives up pussyfooting around it. "I mean, we are..." She swallows hard and closes her eyes, and yeah, he gets that urge. It's easier if you don't have to look at someone while you spill it all. 

"This is going really slow, and that is... okay, I guess." She pauses and bites her lip, and while she's trying to form words out of her confusion, he feels sudden tension pile up in her limbs. "But what if we go in with all these... emotions... I mean, expectations... and then, when we're all set to make it work, it ends up like... like me kissing McGee?"

He blinks and tries to wrap his head around that concept -- of them just thinking they want this to be more while ignoring that it's meant to be a friendship instead. "You think too much," he says, and the denial tumbles out even while his mind catches up and he thinks that it's been a long time since he kissed her for the fun of it. Five years? No, six. And that was different, and just once. _They_ were different back then. And it really was just for the fun of it, cloaked in the pretense of an undercover job.

Ziva's brows draw together at his words. He sees vague irritation rise in her eyes, and that leaves him with the sudden realization that he wants to know just as badly as she does if he really has the hots for her... or if he just doesn't want anyone else to have her.

"Tony," she murmurs when she sees something shift in his face, but before she can say anything else he brings his hand up to her neck and drags her closer.

She tenses out of reflex, and her breath hitches in her throat when she feels his lips on hers, but he doesn't mind. He just keeps kissing her until she gives him a tiny little moan and melts in his arms while she returns the caress. It's a sweet touch, and so soft that he has to concentrate to really feel it. There's a hint of insecurity to it as well, but somehow this makes it even sweeter.

And God, it's so good.

He can't get enough of her lips. He finds that he loves tasting her like this: just a little, barely enough to make a slight excitement curl up in his belly, but more than sufficient to clear up the fact that, yes, he does like kissing her. Maybe even a little more than he thought he would. 

Her lips move softly against his, intrigued, exploring him and the new sensation between them gently, and he likes it so much that he's almost tempted to turn this into something more. He suddenly wants to slip his tongue deeper and get more than just this simple taste of her. Wants to feel her up and maybe run his hands under her shirt and try out how much he can get away with before she tells him to stop. 

The thing is, she clearly likes this, too. She might not stop him. She might just let him keep going until they're all lost in sexy things and do stuff without thinking about the ramifications first. And it's a mild surprise to him, but that's not something he feels ready for yet. Not with Ziva. Not when he wants this to work out and be more than a little bit of mindless fun.

She's a little breathless when he pulls back. Her eyes flit all over the place, and he can tell she's more confused now than she was before, even though he's not quite sure what's going on in her head right now. He knows he should let go of her now, but for some reason his hand remains on her neck, and his thumb develops a life of its own and brushes across the soft skin at the base of her skull until her eyelids flutter and she looks deliciously distracted. 

"Well," he says, and she gives him a laugh that's equally sexy and insecure. His heart stutters when she leans a little closer.

"That was... nice," she murmurs, and even though there's a tiny smile on her face, he wants to be annoyed by her choice of words at first. Because 'nice' doesn't really cut it for him. 'Nice' is a chat you exchange at the office, or grabbing a drink with buddies you haven't seen all year and don't really care to see more often. 'Nice' is... McGee.

But then she stares at his mouth, and he realizes that she's not that far off: this _was_ nice. It wasn't mindbogglingly sexy or forced or strained with tension. It simply did what it was supposed to do: establish that kissing each other is a good thing. And that it doesn't feel all that brotherly.

He looks at her, vaguely stunned by how subtly things just shifted between them. Ziva breathes out slowly, then wriggles a little and tries not to fall off the couch while she turns around until she can rest her back against his chest. He waits for her to get settled, then he slings his arm loosely around her waist. It's tempting to pull her closer, and he's pretty sure she wouldn't object, but he doesn't want to disturb their new, fragile balance just yet. (Too much work to get here in the first place.) In the end, he settles for scooting a little closer until he can press his nose into her hair and drink in her sandalwood scent, and that's a good start, too.

Then he suddenly remembers something that was almost buried in other things. "How do you know what it's like to kiss McGee?" he asks, and she chuckles, amused by the way his mind works. Her voice is low, and he can tell she's already close to drifting back to sleep. It gives him a tiny thrill to feel her relax like this, in his presence. Not too long ago she wouldn't have.

"Halloween party two years ago," she murmurs. And yeah, it's silly because it's _McGee_ they're talking about here, but her confirming that is was actual experience, not an assumption, still leaves him feeling outrageously jealous and possessive. "He was pretty drunk, and I think he doesn't even remember it." Her words trail off slowly, and he's almost sure she is already asleep by the time she snuggles back into his embrace. Then she suddenly shifts a little and mumbles, "Don't tell Abby."

"'course not," he whispers back, and it's not even a hard promise to make. This isn't something he wants to share anytime soon. He's selfish like that.

*** *** ***

It's in the morning, when he's making a rushed breakfast consisting mostly of coffee and a few slices of toast, that she spills another secret and tells him that she wrote a letter to Ray.

He's not sure what to say to that, and Ziva, from the way she looks down at her hands now, isn't entirely sure why she told him. "Why?" he asks eventually and hands her a steaming mug.

She shrugs, and he can tell she feels vaguely uncomfortable, but he's not sure if that's based on the fact itself or because she has to talk about it. "Because you were right," she says after a while. Absentmindedly she pours more sugar into her coffee and stirs slowly. "Certain things do need to be spelled out."

He sits down and fusses with the jar of peanut butter until he can't put off asking any longer. "So that's it then? You guys are really done?"

She nods, then grimaces and adds, "Well, technically he has to read it first." She watches Tony's hands for a while, and he can tell she's tempted to reach out and touch him. "I sent the letter to his mother. She'll keep it for him until he's back from his assignment, whenever that may be."

"His... mother?"

Ziva shrugs. "It seemed sensible. She won't screen it. The Agency would."

"Huh." He busies himself with making the sandwich just about perfect, then hands it to Ziva, and he's quite proud of himself that he can even make this look like he isn't stalling. "Why didn't you tell me about that?" _Like, before you kissed me?_

She shrugs again, and this time she looks all awkward and uncomfortable. "I didn't tell anyone," she says quietly. "It was... need-to-know, you know?"

"And now?"

"Now..." she starts and then falls silent again while she picks at the corners of her sandwich. Shrugs one more time, then raises her eyes and meets his gaze. Her face is suddenly so open that his heart stutters and his pulse trips over itself for a moment.

And yeah, he gets it. She doesn't really have to spell it out this time: things _are_ different now. Things changed, somewhere during the past night. Probably around the same time when she kissed him. Or when he kissed her back. Or maybe a little later, when he woke up again and found her curled up against his chest and realized that he _wanted_ to get used to this: to being with her. Waking up with her.

Now, he needs to know. So she told him.


	7. Ruffled

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happening during the episode 9x07 "Devil's Triangle", so yes, spoilers for that episode. Just a short, fluffy and vaguely steamy interlude this time because everything else really didn't want to work with the mood of this whole episode. We'll leave the big emotional guns for the next two episode tags, yes?

Realization is often an uncomfortable process. Sometimes it even borders on painful, especially when men are concerned. And if the men in question carry the name DiNozzo... well.

Anthony DiNozzo junior has a lot of experience in cleverly avoiding some truths, even the ones he had to admit to himself under the influence of drugs that had been specifically designed to loosen his grip on his own, home-made reality. And yet, sometimes he turns around and runs face-first into a wall of realization that drags the rug out from under his feet and leaves him all confused and looking like a lost little boy for a minute, until he either gets a grip or gets mercifully distracted... or both.

Usually, these obstacles to his reality evasion have something to do with his partner. (The pretty one. The one that looks at him now as if she wants to ask him things he hasn't planned on doing today, but wouldn't mind considering.) Or their situation. Or emotions that may or may not exist.

There's a reason for that, of course. But he won't go there. No, sir. Because that would defeat the whole purpose of trying to pretend that reason doesn't exist in the first place.

It still hits him, quite unexpectedly, when Ziva tilts her head and turns her back to Gibbs, just so the boss man won't notice how she stares at her partner's mouth longingly: he suddenly realizes that, for the first time in his life, it's not the 'getting there' part he is worried about with Ziva. It's everything that comes with 'staying there' which totally, completely and utterly freaks him out. 

Because it's a bit like raising kids: you can't screw it up because it's too important for trial and error. And if you would screw up, you'd leave behind broken hearts and shattered trust. You'd leave behind the useless pieces of something that was pretty damn good in the first place, and no matter how easy it seems to dive in head first and figure out the details later, it isn't. Not really. Not when you have to get it right and make it work and not ruin a good thing.

It's double scary for him because these days it feels way too easy to fall into this without thinking twice about it. He knows now what Ziva feels like, after all. Knows how she will kiss him once they start doing this on a more regular basis. He's felt her skin against his palm. He's felt her chest rise against his with her breath. And he has slept with her, and woken up with her.

Touching her is too easy after this. Too tempting. Getting close to each other is suddenly the natural thing and what their bodies do on their own when their brains aren't watching. It's a pull that gets harder and harder to resist, and on some days he's not really sure why he still does. Then he remembers that he can't screw this one up, and that's when he always panics, each and every time. Because he has no idea yet what to do beyond the point of 'getting there'. He never really had to think about that before, in his entire life. Even with Jeanne, because on some level he'd always known back then that he had no chance to do anything _but_ screw it up.

So maybe it's just that look Ziva gives him at that moment when Gibbs isn't watching them for a change. Or maybe it's because he catches himself just in time before he leans into her and kisses the smug smile from her face. Whatever the reason, he suddenly finds himself stuck with questions that no longer center around how to 'get' Ziva, but rather what it will take to keep her.

He's not entirely sure if that's why he suddenly starts to lose more hair or if it's the hair loss that makes him freak out even more. Hens and eggs and all that jazz.

*** *** ***

"Your hair obsession is getting out of hand," she tells him later, when she catches him in the break room while he's sneaking a glance at his mirror image in the front door of the candy machine. 

Caught and guilty he lowers his fussing hands and tries to pretend he _wasn't_ looking for thin spots. Of course his deflection fails spectacularly, and Ziva sighs and rolls her eyes at him. "Sit down," she commands, "and let me take a look."

A muscle in his cheek starts to twitch nervously. He wants to take a step back and tell her no way, but that's the moment when she narrows her eyes and gives him the glare. The one she picked up from Gibbs. The one that says he's not allowed to refuse. And since Anthony DiNozzo knows what's good for him after all these years with her, he follows her order warily and walks to the chair she points at. 

He's nervous about turning his back to her, he really is. (He'd be a fool not to. Especially when she's halfway on her way to getting annoyed with him.) And yet, he sits down and pretends to ignore the smug little smile that tugs at the corners of her mouth.

Ziva watches him calmly while he obeys her. She waits until he's seated, then puts her coffee down and moves behind the chair. His nervous twitch jumps from his cheek to the corner of his eye until it's unnerving and stings. He's almost ready to jump up again and tell her to just forget about it. Being a wimp almost seems like the better option now. Better than her having a closer look and deciding she doesn't do bald after all.

He flinches when she rests her hands on his shoulders, and that makes her chuckle. "Relax," she purrs, and the word run down his back like a liquid caress. For a moment he finds himself torn between the urge to flee and the one to lean back into her and wait for her to wrap her arms around him. Then he remembers she's looking at the top of his head right now, and he's suddenly wondering if he did it the right way today. Like, stylish, but not too over the top. (Even though he sometimes suspects she likes his hair when it's out of order and doing its own thing. Maybe because it gives her a better excuse to touch him and mess with him and his hair a little.) He also wonders if he has arranged it in a way that covers the worst of the damage so she won't be turned off by what she sees. 

He still refuses to think about her and being turned on in the same sentence. It's for his own safety and peace of mind. Most of the time that kind of self-censoring actually works, but sometimes... sometimes Ziva throws a wrench into his control, just for the sheer fun of it. Just because she can. And it seems like she's in that kind of mood today.

His skin tightens when she runs her fingertips up his neck suddenly. She moves them slowly, dragging her nails a little, and Tony swallows and takes a slow breath. 

This really isn't what he expected. Not this careful, deliberate touch, slowly moving from his neck to the back of his head. It's the kind of touch that says it's not casual by a long shot. The kind of touch that speaks rather loudly of a certain level of intimacy involved.

"Uhm," he forces out, but Ziva ignores the confused sound and runs her nails through the short hairs at the base of his head. "That..."

"Shut up, Tony."

He does what she tells him to, of course: he closes his eyes and presses his lips together tightly while her fingers start exploring the longer strands of hair on the top of his head. 

She's meticulous. The tips of her fingers map his scalp, and his breath soon comes a little faster because it's not a purely scientific view she bestows on his hair. She really enjoys touching him, he can feel that. And she gives him the kind of touching that's almost like a massage -- the kind you get at a really good hairdresser's. It's almost as entrancing. No, more, actually. Because it's _her_ touching him like that.

Her fingers move slowly, relishing the experience. They dig into his skin a little with each stroke, until he's ready to moan and possibly embarrass himself. She runs her whole hands through his hair now, and he can feel her grabbing a little, like she's testing the strands. Then she leans a notch closer, and the warmth from her body seeps into his back, and he thinks that, God, yes, she is definitely enjoying this as much as he does. He can feel it, in the way she leans into him a little more than necessary and in the way she lets his hair slide through her fingers. As if it's a sensual experience. 

Her motions slow and the gentle pressure of her fingertips increases until a hot shudder runs down his back and he has to clench his hands in his lap because he really wants to reach for her now. Wants to drag her around that damn chair between them and into his lap and do things to her that are in no way appropriate for the workplace.

Oh, he is so screwed.

"Tony," she murmurs. He can almost feel her voice against his skin. It's as rich as her touch, and it makes him just as crazy.

"Yeah?" 

He has to clear his throat so he can get the word out, and she chuckles softly and runs her nails all over his scalp for good measure. And then, just when he thinks she'll let go now and step back and he can take a breath and stop feeling these insane urges, that's when Ziva leans into him once more and presses her lips to the top of his head.

"Your hair is fine, Tony. It's not even thinning yet."

She murmurs the words against his skin while he blinks and tries to separate what she says from the way her mouth feels. It's hard work, and his thoughts blur and blend with how close Ziva is. How her fingers caress him just that little bit longer, until she finally steps back and lets go of him. 

"Thank you." He blinks some more and looks at her while she takes her mug of coffee back and sits down in the chair next to him. If he didn't know better he'd say she looks a little flushed. "You're not just saying that so I'll shut up about it?"

The question makes her laugh, and that, in turn, distracts Tony. He likes her laugh. Especially when it's like this -- bubbly. And a little like she's still whispering against his skin.

"I'll be the one who has to look at it, so I checked in my own best interest."

He stares at her mouth and tries to make sense of her words. Fails, as he usually does, so he frowns at her and asks, "I'm taller than you. When do you think you'll get to see my not-thinning-after-all spot?"

Her smile turns into something incredibly smug, and he realizes he walked right into that one, with his brain blissfully distracted by a head massage from his favorite ex-Probie. And yeah, she's flushed now, all right; her cheeks color even more when she leans towards him and lowers her voice to something that rubs against his skin in the most delicious way.

"When you'll put that overactive mouth of yours to good use, of course." She gives him another low laugh when his eyes widen and he stares at her like a deer in the headlights. Then she winks and is on her feet and halfway back to her desk before he can even begin to think about reacting to that bold statement.

Not that he'd have a good answer, anyway. He's left with his pulse suddenly pounding hard and his imagination going a mile a minute because yeah, _fuck_. Now _that_ put some interesting pictures into his head.

She looks back at him over her shoulder once more before she slips out of the break room, and that's when he realizes this will actually happen at one point. That she'll be in his bed (or he in hers) and that she won't tease him then, she'll urge him on.

He breathes out and realizes that maybe, just maybe, he should waste a few thoughts on 'getting there', after all.


	8. Old Debts to Pay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happening after the episode 9x08 "Engaged, Part 1", so yes, spoilers for that episode.

He should be used to it by now.

That's the first thing running through his mind when he asks McGee where Ziva is and the Probie looks at him as if he's dense.

"Home, packing," Tim replies slowly. And then it seems to sink in, just as slowly, that Tony has no idea what he's talking about. "She didn't tell you?"

"Tell me _what?_ " he barks. His skin prickles suddenly, and yeah, he has a really bad feeling about this. _I'll take pointless Star Wars references for one hundred, Alex._

"She's going with Gibbs." And that should mean something, he supposes. The words should make sense to him. Except that they don't, and so McGee adds, "To Afghanistan. They're trying to get Flores out. Their plane leaves in the morning."

Yes, he should be used to Ziva going away whenever it begins to feel like she's finally around to stay with them. With him. But he isn't, and it's still a kick in the gut, no matter how often she falls out of his life only to come tumbling back when he least expects it.

*** *** ***

He can't sleep, and he can't put it away this time, and he can't sit around waiting for a call from her that will never come. He knows she's trying to handle this as best as she can -- or maybe the only way she can. He knows she's not going to be emotional about the fact that she's going into a warzone and she might not come back, at least not out in the open. But _he_ is emotional about it, and this time he just can't fight the panic that threatens to choke him. _So fucking close._

So it's just past midnight when he knocks at her door, and his heart races while he waits if she'll ignore him and pretend that maybe she was asleep already or didn't hear him, something like that, just so it would be easier for both of them.

He's stunned when she opens the door eventually, and he's even more surprised when he finds that he isn't really prepared to face her after all. He's gotten too used to them behaving differently -- destructively -- that he finds himself at a loss for words when he suddenly can't blame it on her for not giving him a chance to talk.

She looks at him cautiously, despite the fact that she was apparently asleep already. Her hair is a wild mess of big, loose curls, and for some reason his mouth is suddenly dry. He's not sure if that's because she looks at him like she waits for him to explain what he's doing here or because she's just wearing a men's shirt that's too big on her and has only half of its buttons closed. He swallows hard and just stares at her for a moment. Eventually she is the one who acts because he doesn't seem to be able to, and so she sighs and steps aside to let him in.

*** *** ***

She doesn't wait for him to come up with the right words for what he wants to say. She just wanders off into the kitchen once she has closed the door again, and since he's not sure she really just does that to get something to drink, he follows her. He didn't come here so she could avoid him, after all.

He's still quiet while she opens a water bottle and drinks, and yeah, now she's suddenly nervous because she knows she won't get around the talking this time.

"A heads up would have been nice," he says, and Ziva flinches. Carefully she sets the bottle down on the counter and screws it shut. She takes even greater care to keep her back to him, but he can still see her face in the brushed steel door of her fridge. She looks just as confused and lost as he feels right now.

"You are right," she forces out eventually, and he breathes out when she turns around and faces him after all, pale, but keeping her chin up. "I apologize. I thought you would try to... talk me out of it."

"Nooo. Why would I do such a thing?" His voice, as it often does, echoes his emotions, and so it is suddenly far from confused. It's pure sarcasm, and he feels the anger and the panic he has carried with him for the past few hours flow out with his words and hit her in the face like acid. He's sorry the moment he opens his big mouth, but he can't help it. It's too much all of a sudden. 

_Tell her._

"Just because you run off into a fucking warzone and failed to tell me? Nonsense. You're a grown woman, you have every right to throw away your life whenever you want, what's one more guy in your life to worry ab--"

"Tony," she interrupts him, and he breathes in sharply. There's pain in that one word, and when he looks at her, he sees her eyes wide and her face too open. So open he can see how hurt and vulnerable she is right now. In that moment he knows exactly why she didn't tell him. And yeah, he probably would have done the same thing if he'd been in her shoes. But that doesn't make it any better, or easier to swallow. "What do you want me to say?"

His hands clench into tight fists, and he has no idea what to answer. He doesn't know what he wants to hear from her. He just knows he wants her to stay and skip this round and let someone else take the heat. Gibbs is good at this kind of shit, he doesn't really need Ziva to tag along, right? _Right?_

But he knows he can't ask her that. She'd refuse, and she'd do her thing anyway, and--

He frowns and stares at her and suddenly realizes he knows her outfit. Because she borrowed it from him, that night she crashed at his place after a certain four-hour movie. "Is that my shirt?" he asks, and Ziva blinks, even more confused by this rapid switch in topics. Then a slight blush creeps into her face, and she turns her head and looks away.

"Maybe," she says, and her fingers suddenly twitch nervously. "I didn't check."

And that's a goddamn lie if he ever heard one.

She jumps when he's suddenly right in front of her and reaches for her, and it almost looks like she wants to protest for a heartbeat. But then her body agrees without hesitation, and her fingers curl and dig into his arm. Her breath hitches in her throat, but she doesn't push him away, and it's a goddamn rush to suddenly be this close to her. And this time, there's something complicated about the way she kisses him back. Her mouth is tense on his, but it's the good kind of tension. The kind that suddenly skyrockets and rips your mind out of whatever has been going on before and drops it into something else entirely. Something that's warm, and intense, and so out of control that it only allows thoughts about closeness and heat and the way bodies will press into each other soon. 

His left hand holds her neck and keeps her close, keeps her from pulling back, while the other is clamped around her hip and presses her body into his so he can feel her from head to toe, all over. Feel the way she melts into his chest while his kisses grow more heated. He just wants to keep doing this, forever -- taste her, lick her, suck on her tongue and bury his hand in her hair and feel her skin while he slides his hand under her shirt. _His_ shirt. _Oh God, fuck..._

"Don't go," he forces out, and Ziva freezes against him. Her pulse pounds hard under his palm while he thinks silly thoughts about tying her up just so she can't slip out of his life again like she usually does when things get too intense, and dear God, even he knows it's highly inappropriate, but he _really_ can't get over the fact that she's not wearing anything under his shirt.

She breathes out slowly and slings her arm around his neck, and for a moment he's confused when she buries her face in the curve of his neck. It's a little too fresh, and he almost wants to freak out now about the pace of things. But thankfully, he can't. She just feels too good, pressed up against him like this. (It's not really fair. It makes him happy when he's still trying to be pissed with her.)

"I need to, Tony," she murmurs just then, and he blinks and runs his hand through her hair and down her back. She's quiet for a long time, and he almost thinks that's it, that all she's going to say about it: something he can't really argue about. "I don't believe in Karma. But I do believe in paying my debts, and... and I do need to pay back what..." She hesitates, then her hand lets go of his arm for a moment and she gestures vaguely as if that would explain better what she wants to say. _"This."_

Strangely, it does. He gets it. He gets that she will never be able to repay what Gibbs and McGee and one Very Special Agent did for her when they set out to get her out of that hellhole in Somalia. He gets that she will do her best instead in bringing another Marine back. Another brave woman who's stuck in a similar place right now and deserves to come home. Just like she did.

"Then at least don't get killed," he says, and before she has even finished the tiny laugh that flows over her lips, he's kissing her again and shuts her up before she can object, and just like that she's breathless. "Promise," he murmurs and keeps pressing tiny kisses to her lips, hoping stubbornly that it'll distract her enough so she'll forget all about the mission and stick with him instead. His kisses have made other women forget all about their duties before, so hey. It's worth a shot.

But not Ziva, of course. Ziva never forgets about this kind of thing, and so she draws back and meets his eyes squarely, her face suddenly all closed off and distant. "You know I can't promise that." 

He wants to protest, and yeah, now he really wants to argue with her, just for the sake of it and even though he's not sure if he isn't just being selfish and childish about it. But he never gets the chance to say any of the things running through his mind because right then she suddenly starts to unbutton his shirt and runs her hands down his chest, and that makes his breath catch in his throat. She looks so determined all of a sudden that he has a pretty good idea what's about to happen now, and part of him urges him to go for it with a cheer. But underneath the heated excitement curling up in his belly there's also more panic because he still isn't sure he's ready for this. He's even less sure she is.

"Ziva--" he starts out and loses whatever words were supposed to follow because she raises her chin and looks at him in stubborn challenge.

"No," she says and shakes her head. There's a faint trace of anger in her voice. Her fingers slide down his chest and lower, flip his belt open, loosen another button. He takes a deep breath, and she pauses and waits for him to react. When he doesn't, she mutters, "Life is short, Tony. We need to start making it count, remember? And I want to. I want you, in my bed, tonight. Not for sleeping, not for cuddling, not for comfort. For... sex." Her voice falters, and that's when her brave mask slips a little after all and he gets a peek at how scared she really is about this. How unsure. But she still rises to her toes and kisses him again, urgently this time, intensely, her mouth eating his as if it's the last thing she will ever do. 

He wants to resist. Wants to be reasonable about this and keep it for later, when it's the right time and when she's back safe and sound. Only he can't, because just then Ziva tears her mouth from his and licks his neck and whispers into his ear. "Please."

That's when he closes his eyes and drags her closer after all, simply because there might be no 'later' for them. Not this time. Or ever. 

He can't step back now. He can't let this moment pass by like so many others and later blame himself for never even trying.

*** *** ***

He wakes to nice memories of soft skin and sweat, and strong limbs going all soft while sweet nonsense is whispered. He remembers soft moans, mixing with harsh curses; remembers delicious tension, and louder moans, and Ziva's incredible taste. Her eagerness, and _oh God, she smells so good, he can't even--_

His eyes snap open when reality chases the enjoyable half-dream away and he finds the bed empty and bigger than he remembers it. His heart suddenly pounds so hard it's bordering on painful, and he glances at the clock and realizes she's probably been up in the air for about an hour. For the briefest moment he hates her for doing this. He tries not to, but he can't help it. It's become a reflex when people leave him.

He blinks and curls up on his side, and he's so frustrated that it takes him longer than it usually would to notice the little slip of paper she left for him.

 _'I'll come back,'_ he reads. The words are jotted down in her meticulous, sharp handwriting, and the paper is dented in some places, as if she had pressed the pen down harder than she usually would. _'I promise.'_

Tony blinks and stares at the tiny note for longer than he will later care to acknowledge.


	9. Elegy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happening during and after the episode 9x09 "Engaged, Part 2", so yes, spoilers for that episode. 
> 
> We're switching to Ziva's point of view from now on. And please, please trust me when I say that this happens for a reason. I know where I'm going with this.

It's the heat hitting her in the face that conjures up the first memories for Ziva. They're harsh and unexpected, and they flash by so fast that she reels from the impact. Her breath piles up in her throat, and she almost chokes on it. The cold sweat of panic breaks out on her skin.

She had forgotten how hot sand smells. How it clings to the back of the throat.

She's frozen to the spot while she waits for the inevitable stench of bitter sweat to overwhelm her and pour salt into old wounds that feel too fresh all of a sudden. She knows it'll come eventually, she's used to it, and she knows she'll be helpless when it happens because that's just how things are: inevitable. She can't run from it, can't hide, can't fight.

But just when she wants to give in and to lose herself in the rising memory, her world tilts on her axis again because Gibbs reaches out and grips her neck hard, steadying her, pulling her out of it. 

She blinks and takes a shaky breath. "I'm fine," she says and grabs her backpack tighter, but Gibbs's hand stays where it is, even when one of the Marines gives them a funny look. 

She's never been more thankful for his persistence and how easily he sees through her lies.

*** *** ***

It's the shots that leave her thinking this time it's different. This time she's not seeking death. This time she's stronger, and not lost, and this time she's not going in alone, and she's not going in to die. She couldn't even do it if she wanted to. She has others at her side now, others who will share the burden, others who will keep her -- and each other -- safe. Family, in some sense of the word.

And she has one man at her side who will not leave her behind. One man who will not let her out of his sight. One man who will keep her safe, at all cost. 

She takes a deep breath and stares out of the tiny window of the transporter. Her fingers twitch when more rounds are fired. It's childish, but she feels the urge to draw her feet up and wrap her arms around her knees. It's a shame she can't do that without looking weak.

"Ziver," Gibbs says without turning his head. For some reason, he never has to look at her to feel her distress.

She closes her eyes and runs her thumbnail along the seam of her pants while she waits for the Marines to shake off the insurgents. It's only a matter of time.

*** *** ***

It's the rescued girls who bring back more memories. They remind her that yes, some things are different now, but sometimes the world is just like she remembers it: not like it should be. And even though some things get better and more of the good people get rescued, other things never change, and every tiny little victory, like the life of two orphan girls, comes at a cost.

She stares at their bruises and the burns on the younger one's arms and forces herself to smile and joke with them until they can smile back at her. It's hard, because she knows her own body has faded scars just like this girl will have.

*** *** ***

It's the night that turns out to be different. It's unexpectedly cold, compared to the Somali nights, where temperatures simply went from unbearable to hot during the night. Afghanistan is not like the land of her worst memories, after all, and she's thankful for that. It helps to keep her head on straight and her thoughts clear, and in the end it even lets her catch some sleep.

It doesn't help to control the weird longing that creeps into her chest at one point, though. She's confused by the sudden loneliness that sweeps over her. She draws her blanket tight around her shoulders, and while she bites her lip she suddenly realizes that she wants Tony with her right now. To curl up in his arms and fall asleep while he holds her. Gibbs, two cots from hers, would do that, maybe, but he just doesn't do. Not at night.

*** *** ***

It's Quincy's blood gushing through her fingers that reminds her all life is fragile and some things end when you least expect it. 

"Ma'am, I can take it from here. Step back."

She has no experience in keeping people alive. She only knows how to kill them. And for a horrible, terrifying moment she wants to go back to that. Back to what she knows, back to not losing any sleep over it, back to not feeling anything about blood on her hands. _It is what it is._ Only that isn't it any longer.

She makes a promise to a dying man, and the words in her mouth choke her up and leave her breathing hard because she doesn't want to let him go. She doesn't want him to die, because he was a good person, and she liked him, and he... he liked her.

_The ones who get too close always end up dead._

His eyes are wide, and while she feels him slip away, she doesn't see his face for a heartbeat, she sees the faces of a dozen partners she lost throughout the years, of friends, and of lovers. Too many of them, claimed by the only thing she knew how to do good -- her job. Lost, irrevocably. Too many faces she banished from her memory, too many familiar souls she never lost a tear over and instead just accepted that they were... gone. 

It's the first time she is actually there and watches a team mate die. It's not just a gunshot or a car crash or a safe house blowing up, or something she heard about later, long after the fact. It's painful, and nasty. It's the first time she has to look someone in the eye while she feels his life bleed through her fingers and she can't do anything about it.

"I promise I will tell them everything."

She can't keep him alive, this is what she suddenly realizes in brutal clarity. Nothing she can do will keep his soul in this world now.

But at least she can keep this one's memory alive.

*** *** ***

It's when she's back in the bullpen that she realizes she has a hard time looking at Tony. She can't meet his eyes and watch them light up because she's safe and sound when others aren't. She's confused, and the sense of loss still chokes her up so hard that she simply cannot react to him staring holes into her back while she pins Quincy's photo to the wall behind her desk. For the first time she understands why Gibbs does that. It's about honoring them, and about keeping their memory alive.

When she finally turns around to face him she almost chokes on how familiar his face is. How he looks at her all open, and how he gives her a feeble attempt at hiding the fact that he's glad to see her back. He corrects her phrasing instead, because that's what he does when she messes up. He can't hide his emotions from her, though. He's too close these days, and she let him in too far. 

And this is when she suddenly understands why he wanted to do all of this the right way. Slowly, carefully, tip-toeing his way around what other people would call a relationship instead of barging in and ending up in quicksand.

_The ones who get too close always end up dead._

She blinks and evades his gaze and tries to fight the overwhelming sensation of not being ready for this after all.


	10. Distance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happening during and after the episode 9x10 "Sins of the Father", so yes, spoilers for that episode.

Distance can make the heart grow fonder—or it can end the relationship. Either way, it's a road-test on a street named loyalty. And that's a two-way road to everywhere.

~ David Armano, on marriage and - oddly - blogging

*** *** ***

She knows he's not pleased with the way she handles things... or rather, doesn't handle them. She simply refuses to talk to him or see him outside of work, and she definitely doesn't sleep with him again. It doesn't take long until Tony, of all people, gets frustrated by their non-communication, and even though he tries his best to hide it, she gets the message loud and clear whenever he glances at her sideways or corrects her with a little more bite in his voice than usual.

And strangely, the more he gets angry, the more she feels like she can breathe again. Because every morning he spends with snarking at her instead of smiling means a morning closer to a point when they will be two separate persons again, each just living for their own life, with no need to care about the other's wishes or desires. The further apart they drift, the less likely it becomes that she will lose him completely.

So yes, she is almost relieved when he slams the cartons of cold case files onto her desk and puts on his meanest attire to annoy her. She knows he's just trying to get a reaction out of her. She won't give him one, though. At least not the one he wants. Not when she's busy with warding off her heart once more before it is too late. Before either of them gets hurt.

*** *** ***

For a moment she's not sure what to say when Senior tells his son to 'swipe her off her feet'. She can't very well admit that already happened -- not with both their fathers watching her. So she ignores it and kisses his cheek and then winks at him because that's what they do, mock-flirt, in the way she can't with his son.

It strikes her on her way out that she wouldn't mind having Senior as a part of her family. She wouldn't mind talking to him about his son again, and she wouldn't mind nudging them both a little until they started talking, to each other, about each other. She would like to be there while they both heal. It's too bad she won't.

*** *** ***

She gets the phone call when she is just out of the shower and about to slip into something comfortable to waste away the rest of the evening. She doesn't have any plans yet, and she will most likely end up with her nose buried in a book. At least she thinks she will, until Gibbs's voice barks at her to get her ass over to his house, pronto.

When she asks what for, he gives her a question back and wants to know if she remembers Ducky's Thanksgiving turkey recipe. She blinks and stares at her phone for a second, then she suggests he should ask Ducky.

"Can't, he's busy," he barks gruffly. "And before you ask, Abby's out of town with some of these activist hippies."

Ziva blinks a few more times, then dares to ask, "So why are you making turkey?"

He grunts, and the background noise switches subtly, as if he had just turned around, into the direction of said noise. There's the sudden clatter of plates and two familiar voices yelling at each other.

"Ziva," Gibbs grinds out slowly. "I have two DiNozzos here who are trying to kill each other over a damn bird. If you're not here in half an hour, I'm gonna start shooting someone." He hangs up after that, and Ziva is left staring at her phone rather stupidly.

This is not how she expected to spend the night, and for a fleeting moment she even considers ignoring the call of duty and leaving Gibbs to sort out his own mess. Then she groans and raises a hand to rub her forehead.

Of course she won't do that.

*** *** ***

She arrives in the middle of a heated discussion about temperatures and times, and she can tell that Gibbs is indeed close to killing either of the participants by now. He's grateful when she quiets them with a loud whistle, and when she asks for a status report, she sees that the men haven't gotten very far in their culinary experience.

"You could have helped," she murmurs and shoots Gibbs an accusing glance, but he simply leans back against the counter and crosses his arms in front of him.

"It's not a steak," he replies and watches her slip out of her jacket and into an apron. "Doesn't fit on the grill."

There's a certain smugness in his voice that suggests he could, indeed, have helped them along. But that's not how Gibbs's mind works. He always lets his people do the hard part of figuring out what he wants from them, and in this case, the two men--

She blinks and glances at him out of the corner of her eye while she wonders if there's a reason he brought her into the mix.

*** *** ***

Things quiet down considerably once Ziva takes charge of Operation Turkey. She gives the orders, the men follow them, for some reason without objecting too much, and pretty soon the kitchen is a busy place.

Gibbs still doesn't help, he leaves the dirty work to father and son, and Ziva has a hunch that he does it so they'll start getting along better. It's not the worst plan in the world, she has to admit that, and it almost seems to work, at least now that she's here and they're both trying to behave civilized and like grown men while there's a pretty lady around they both have a crush on.

"Huh," she says and turns around to face Gibbs. She's tempted to say something, tempted to call him out and ask him if he really thinks it's that easy. But just when she opens her mouth, he hands her a glass of Chilean red while Tony gets a beer, and that's her chance slipping by because Senior complains instantly that he doesn't get anything. Which leaves both Gibbs and Tony rolling their eyes in unison until Ziva barks another order.

For once, Gibbs actually listens to her and fills a glass for Senior, too. She sips on hers and tries to hide the smile when he winks at her. No, it's certainly not the worst plan he could have come up with.

*** *** ***

She feels herself relax a little with each sip, and it's not just the wine, it's also the men around her. She likes all three of them, and one of them is so painfully familiar by now that he's more like an extension of her own self than a stranger.

At one point she remembers that she's trying to distance herself from him, and she feels almost guilty about letting him back in just when it looks like she's had some success. But then he turns his head and smiles at her, and her heart misses a beat, and she ends up thinking that it is a night to treasure the good things in life, after all.

*** *** ***

She flees into the living room after a while because the better the two DiNozzos get along, the harder they are to bear. Tony Junior gets a little too possessive with his second beer, and Tony Senior gets a little too charming, which, in turn, sets off Junior even more.

Her head thrums with faint traces of a headache, and she rubs her temples and tries to breathe evenly. The whole situation feels like something that could blow up in her face any second, and she's not sure what she should do if that happens. Apologize to Gibbs, then flee the scene?

She closes her eyes for a moment and wonders why she's doing this when she doesn't really want to. She just wants things to be a little more manageable and not quite as complicated as they seem right now. It's not too much to ask, right?

With a sigh she turns, and maybe it's just a funny coincidence, but the first thing she sees is the framed picture of Gibbs and his family on the mantle. Not his work family, but his real one. His dead wife and his dead daughter, back when they were all still happy and alive and loving each other. Back when things were less complicated. She takes a step towards the fireplace and runs the tip of her index finger down the wooden frame while she wonders if Gibbs would think it was worth it. If he had still chosen the same path knowing what would come out of it -- how sparse the happy times would turn out to be, and how long he would suffer afterwards.

She jumps when he suddenly shows up beside her, as if he had felt her thinking about him. She gives him a shaky smile and he nods at her, and that's it, mostly. Unlike Abby, she's long past wondering how he does that.

"Good times," he says and looks at the picture she's still touching, and her gaze drifts back to it out of reflex. It's the younger Gibbs's smile that gets her the most because she's not used to seeing him like that.

"Listen," he says just then. "Is there a reason DiNozzo's been looking at you like a lost puppy the whole evening?" She blinks and keeps her eyes trained on the evidence of happier times so she won't slip up and he won't get mad. And yes, there's a part of her that wants to honor his trust in her and answer his question, but she still finds herself at a loss for words.

"It's complicated," she says eventually while his stare drills holes into her.

"Are you sleeping with him?"

As confused as she is, that question makes her laugh, and it helps bring a bit of her arrogant sassiness back. "I believe that is none of your business, Gibbs," she says, chiding him for his indiscretion even while she waits for his inevitable anger to show.

He surprises her again when he doesn't say anything for a while, just stands beside her with his shoulder almost touching hers. Looking with her at the framed memory while her finger slowly strokes the frame. He really looks happy in that picture. She wishes she could see him smile like that, just once.

"Are you lonely, Ziver?" he asks suddenly, and she remembers that question, of course.

"Sometimes," she says, because she wants to repay the honesty with which he answered her back then. "Sometimes I'm lonely." She can't help the smile that tugs at her lips, though, because she knows very well how that sounded, and before he can say anything that would question her motives she leans closer to him and uses her most conspiratorial voice. "But that wasn't the reason."

He barks out rough laughter, and a sudden, unexpected grin widens his lips. "Hell, no," he guffaws and glances at Tony in the kitchen, who is currently using hands and feet to bring his point across to his father. "Talk about extreme measures..."

She can't fight the answering smile, but she's still surprised when he suddenly reaches out for her and gives her shoulder a quick squeeze. His version of a hug. "Rule number five," he says before he turns and leaves her to her thoughts and a fresh round of confusion.

She knows the rule, of course. She just has no idea what he means by citing it now.

*** *** ***

She's refilling her glass when Tony strolls into the kitchen, and for a moment she's too drunk and too relaxed to take proper care, so she smiles at him while she sips more wine. And Tony, he returns the smile, because they're alone right now, at least for a tiny moment between just them and the roasting turkey.

Her pulse jumps and speeds up a little, because that's just how she reacts to him. She wants to be angry at herself, for not being careful enough, for letting him back under her skin... for letting him smile at her like that. But she can't, because she likes his smile too much, and she likes the warm sensation curling up in her belly suddenly when he moves closer. Maybe he just wants to take another beer out of the fridge -- at least that's what it looks like -- but just like her he gets distracted halfway through the motion because Ziva is between him and his goal, and so he finds himself reaching for her instead of the fridge door.

His mouth is warm and livid, and she can taste the beer, but she doesn't care, not when he's kissing her like that -- intense, urgent. Like he hasn't done it in too... oh. Right.

It's him who remembers eventually that Gibbs and Senior are just around the corner, and so he draws back a little. His hand stays on her hip, though, and his lips stray for a heartbeat and ghost across her temple while he whispers, "God, I miss you."

Her throat is tight, and she knows it's not what she should say, it's against her own judgment, and it will mess up things between them even more. But still, she can't help it.

"I miss you, too."

He takes a deep breath, and his fingers tighten on her hip for a heartbeat. "Then _why_ are you not in my bed tonight?" His lips move softly against her temple, the barest caress, but his voice sounds weirdly strained, like he has to fight to stay in control.

She blinks and leans into him, even when higher reasoning demands she should pull back. She can't help it right now. "It's... complicated..." she murmurs.

He's suddenly stiff beside her, and in the end he's the one stepping away while her own words echo in her head.

_Complicated, complicated..._

"Does that mean you want me to stop asking?"

She's not sure what to say because there's suddenly a miniature war raging inside her. She knows what she _should_ say, at least if she wants to stick to her resolution and keep him out of her life so they won't get a chance to mess things up. But for some reason these are the very words she can't get over her lips right now because they feel wrong and not what she wants to say.

In the end, she doesn't get a chance to answer because Senior waltzes into the kitchen and then drags his son into the living room with the promise of stories he has never heard before. And while Tony groans and Ziva chuckles, she has to admit that she has rarely felt quite as relieved as she does right now.


	11. Of Mice and Men

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happening during and after the episode 9x11 "The Newborn King", so yes, spoilers for that episode.
> 
> One thing you have to keep in mind so this will feel right in your head -- this has turned into a storyline that works quite well within the confines of the first eleven episodes of this season. After that, however, it takes a sharp left turn and stumbles into a different reality than the rest of this season. Meaning, in this universe "Housekeeping" and "A Desperate Man" (and everything after that, really) will not happen.
> 
> A big "Thank you!" to my wonderful cheerleader Wennuhpen, who also gave me - without intending to - a certain tickle scene, for which I will be forever grateful. :)

She feels strange when McGee calls her over. He seems a little too excited, and he's waving something that looks suspiciously like a greeting card. Which, granted, isn't all that unusual on Christmas Eve, but for some reason it still makes her gut tingle in a way that is firmly on the unpleasant side of things.

"There you are," he says while she drops her backpack and slips out of her jacket. "I was just about to call you! Look at this!"

He waves the card again, and Ziva walks over to Tony's desk while she tries to hide her frown. Her curiosity is tickled now, but the weird feeling gets stronger, too. She takes the card from McGee and reads it, but she fails to see what's so special about it, except that it seems rather wordy for a simple greeting, even with the invitation that is attached.

"So?" she says and hands it back to her partner with a shrug. "Not every woman he ever dated wants to rip out his intestines." She blinks, and then her mind draws a few more connections that leave her vaguely uncomfortable. "Unless you think that boy--"

"No, no!" McGee interrupts her. "He's too young to be Tony's. He hasn't talked to Wendy for a lot longer."

He says the name as if it should mean something to her, and that, in turn, leaves Ziva mildly confused. She's not entirely sure what kind of reaction he expects from her. It quickly changes her confusion into irritation, and she raises a hand to rub the space between her eyebrows and chase away the first traces of a headache.

"McGee, I'm not in the mood for a quiz this early in the morning. Just tell me what's so special about this Wendy."

"She's the Wendy he was engaged to."

His voice sounds like he's about to do a somersault, and she thinks that she hasn't seen him this excited in ages. He's like a little boy who just dug up something incriminating he can use on his older brother.

She would probably feel the same way if she were in his place, but right now she cannot share his enthusiasm. She's too busy trying to catch up with the words that spin in her head, and she wants to ask him if she understood him correctly or if he's just messing with her. If Tony was really such a different person back then. The kind of person who gets serious. Who gets engaged.

But she can't say any of these things, of course. She can't very well admit that up until now she had no idea about this, and so she tries her best to keep her expression blank while she nods and says, "Oh. _That_ one."

Later, she thinks that it shouldn't really surprise her. Peter Pan falling for a Wendy seems like the natural order of things.

*** *** ***

The more she thinks about that card, the more she finds that it unsettles her. It's not just for the obvious reason -- that Wendy is a woman Tony was apparently quite serious about at one point in his life.

No, it somehow disturbs her how this woman stirs the memory of that commitment at a time when Ziva tries to step back from her partner, to distance herself from him emotionally. To smooth over the ripples in their tiny pond of coexistence. She's doing a bad enough job at that on her own. She doesn't need another woman coming up on the scene and reminding Ziva that, deep down, she _does_ want Tony in her life.

All of this leaves her with too many conflicting emotions, and while part of her wants to take him back and maybe even mark him as hers now, another part feels weirdly relieved that he won't be on his own forever.

One thing she can easily understand is why that woman still wants him back after all these years: it's hard not to.

*** *** ***

He's merely confused at first when she tells him to talk to Wendy -- reconnect with her -- and the second time he flat-out ignores it. She can feel his irritation, though, and so she shuts up, for now. He still corners her in the break room half an hour later and asks her what the fuck is wrong with her.

"Nothing," she lies and presses her palms to her thighs so he won't notice the minute trembling in her fingers.

"Then why do you keep shoving Wendy into my face?"

She doesn't have a good answer to that. She simply doesn't know. She only knows on some level it seems important that he faces that woman.

"Maybe I don't want you to regret anything," she shrugs eventually. "You did want to marry her once."

"That was ten years ago, Ziva."

"She doesn't seem to be over it yet."

"She was married and pregnant seven months after I had called off the engagement." His voice is harsh suddenly, and Ziva blinks and tries not to meet his eyes. She's never been good at facing him when he's all raw and emotional like this. "She didn't waste any time clinging to the past, so why should I?" He stares at her and waits for her to say something. When she doesn't find the right words, he shakes his head. "This isn't about me. She wanted a kid back then. Now she just wants a new daddy for that kid."

And once again Ziva isn't sure what to answer. The only reply she can think of seems much too personal. Too... involved. And she's doing her best to get dis-involved with him.

She swallows around the lump in her throat. "Well, she's smart then." The words feel like razors on her tongue, and she wonders if that's the reason her voice sounds weird to her own ears.

Tony merely blinks and stares at her while he tries to make sense of her words. "What?" he finally asks. It's such a simple word, but his confusion is palpable.

"One day you will make a good father." She looks away when the last word tumbles out because she's not sure what he'll make out of that sentence. If he catches on and figures out what it really means. If he realizes that being a father would mean not being with her.

His stare feels heavy on her for a few heartbeats. Then she suddenly hears him turn on his heel and leave without another word. And it's silly, really, that this brings up another lump in her throat. Because a tiny, tiny part of her would have liked him to react differently, after all.

*** *** ***

On some level she realizes why she wants him to face Wendy. She'll never be able to put her feelings about it into words, though, because it's no more than a vague thought, nagging and needling at the edges of her perception, and she pushes it away for the better part of the day because it is just as complicated as their entire relationship has been over the years. And because it's a trick question, really. It's the most devious kind of test, and she's not sure what a 'correct' outcome would be -- if she wants him to run back to Wendy and embrace the pre-made family the woman offers or if she'd prefer it if he shied away from old attachments and responsibilities and continues to be the emotionally irresponsible man she has come to know over the years.

It won't really matter which path he chooses. It's a test he will fail, and no matter how he reacts, he will end up breaking something.

*** *** ***

She sips her chocolate and chats with Lieutenant Reynolds about a lot of things they can both relate to: the deployments in hostile countries, the wars, the aggression they have faced. How men behave around them, and how they both learned to cope with that.

They do not talk about the one thing that stands like the pink elephant between them -- the new life growing inside of Emma. It's like they both awkwardly acknowledge the topic and decide in unison to skip it. Ziva suspects that is because Reynolds still has trouble connecting the thought of being a mother with who she grew up to be -- a Marine. Ziva certainly knows she would have the same problem.

It's only much later, when she checks her weapons and tells Gibbs she has this covered, that she realizes they skirted around the topics of motherhood and childbirth for another, weirdly simple reason as well, a reason based on something Ziva has rarely felt towards other women: jealousy.

*** *** ***

Yes, she thinks, and her thoughts keep spinning around that one single word. Yes, she thinks while she throws away her emptied Sig. 

Yes, she is jealous. Jealous of the simple fact that others are allowed to bring life into this world while she has to keep taking it.

*** *** ***

She has backed away hard, emotionally, by the time Tony and McGee storm the gas station, and she flinches and avoids his touch when Tony reaches for her and asks her if she's okay. She can't give him a good answer because everything that comes to mind and sounds like a reasonable response would be a lie right now. 

In the end she just nods and looks away and tries to ignore the way he frowns, because if she acknowledges his concern, if she lets him touch her... if she lets herself _be_ touched... No, she can't do that. She would lose the tiny shred of control she still has left over her emotions.

It doesn't surprise her when Tony mirrors the raw pain in her and turns away. His mouth is just a thin, angry line, and it's weird, but his hurt expression is the one thing that suddenly softens Ziva's heart and makes her think that maybe she got this all wrong. Maybe them being apart is not the better way to go, after all.

She can't react to this realization, though, because that's when Gibbs's hand comes to rest between her shoulder blades. He wants her to go to the hospital, too, once the ambulance makes its way through the storm. Wants her to get checked out because the Russian slammed her around hard and he knows this wasn't an easy one for her. He hasn't seen the fight, just heard the ruckus, but he still knows she took a hard one because that's just what he does -- what a good father does. One look at her has always been enough for him.

For a moment she thinks about claiming she's fine. About telling him the bruises on her ribs and her back aren't as bad. That she doesn't need the time-out.

But she does need it, and she's not fine. Not entirely. And even though it's more her heart than her body that needs treatment, she gives in and for once stops putting up a fight.

*** *** ***

Ziva gets to ride in the ambulance with Emma and the baby, and she feels decidedly weird about it. Like she doesn't really belong here. Emma's whole attention is focused on the little girl now, and that leaves Ziva feeling like she's intruding on something private.

Well. Technically, she is.

It's almost a relief when the paramedic tells her to lift her shirt so he can check her ribs. This is something she knows how to deal with. She's done it all her life.

*** *** ***

"Smile!" she says, but neither the Lieutenant nor her daughter really need the request to beam at Ziva while she snaps a picture for the team with her cell phone. 

It's strange, but right now, when she looks at Reynolds, Ziva no longer sees the hardcore Marine, the fighter, the woman she can relate to. She only sees someone weirdly giddy and relaxed, and every time Emma looks at her tiny daughter, her face softens a little more, until all the panic and duress of the past few days is stripped away. Her expression changes subtly, too -- more emotion creeps in with every minute, and her features soften while she gently strokes her daughter's cheek until the baby girl yawns and her head falls to the side.

"She's beautiful," Ziva murmurs quietly, and Emma blinks and looks at her. 

"I guess I did good there." Her smile is weird, torn between awkward realization and beaming with pride. 

Ziva swallows around the sudden lump in her throat and steps closer to the hospital bed. Her hands itch suddenly, as if she needs just a little bit more to take home with her than just the photo, and since Emma looks at her almost encouragingly, Ziva reaches out very carefully and runs her index finger over the baby's tiny, tiny hand. 

It's just the hint of a touch, barely enough to feel the incredibly soft baby skin underneath her fingertip. Still, the girl suddenly flails in her almost-sleep, and Ziva holds her breath when itty bitty fingers grab hers and refuse to let go again.

"Oh," she breathes out, and Emma laughs.

"Tell me about it."

Ziva blinks, remaining frozen and a little bit in shock, and for a while all she can do is stare at the baby's hand and the chubby fingers holding on to hers. Thoughts spin in her head, but they're gone again the second they form themselves, and she can catch none of them, much less make sense of the sudden emotions coiling up in her belly and confusing her.

It's only later, when Lieutenant Reynolds's doctor tells her that both mother and daughter need some rest now and she should go home herself, that she realizes what exactly has confused her heart and her mind so much.

*** *** ***

He's not home when she arrives at his apartment, and for some reason that leaves her feeling unsettled. It gets worse when she calls him and the first thing she hears is a child's giddy laughter. Her heart beats hard and fast in her throat suddenly, and for a moment she is so sure that he took her advice and went to see Wendy after all that it chokes her and leaves her speechless.

"DiNozzo," he says, and then he laughs while the child squeals into the phone. "Hang on, we have a severe tickling situation going on here..."

It sounds like he puts his phone down on a table, and for a heartbeat the laughter duet rises to new heights. Then Ziva hears her partner's voice while he's talking to the kid, and she can't help it, she presses her phone a little closer to her ear, just so she can understand him better. "Sweetie, I gotta take this. Go play with Uncle Gibbs for a minute, okay?"

It's a girl who answers him, and for a second that leaves Ziva even more confused. Wendy had a son, right?

Then Tony says, very softly, "Hey", and she realizes he's not visiting Wendy. He's with someone else, and even though she doesn't know who it is, Gibbs is with them, so it isn't a date. And maybe she isn't too late after all, because that softness in his voice almost sounds like it's directed at her.

"Am... am I interrupting something?" She hates the hesitancy in her words, but she can't help it. She's still unsettled and nervous, and she wishes madly she could come up with a better way than to actually talk about this.

Tony, of course, hears the waver in her voice, and so he lowers his own. It's just a tiny shift in his timbre, but she knows his whole attention is fixed on her now. And somehow, that makes it even worse. 

"No. Gibbs dragged me along, we're with Leyla and Amira. Leyla's a damn good cook, let me tell you." He chuckles, but when Ziva can't come up with an answer that seems appropriate, the amusement trickles out of his voice and more softness creeps in. "Listen, you wanna come over, too? There's plenty of leftovers. I'm pretty sure Leyla won't mind."

"No, I'm... I'm..." She still can't find the right words, and so she falls quiet for a moment. Closes her eyes and rubs her forehead until he says her name softly. "Tony, can we talk?"

Now he's the one not saying anything for a moment, and with each passing breath, with each stumble of her nervous heartbeat thundering through his silence, she gets more nervous. Maybe she will be too late, after all.

"Yeah," he says, and Ziva breathes out slowly. "Yeah, I guess we should do that. Where are you, at my apartment?"

"How--" He laughs, and her frown deepens a little, not because she's angry about his teasing, but because this seems too natural. 

"I know you, right?"

He hangs up before she can even try to come up with a reply, and for a moment she just stares at her phone. Then she tucks it away and sits down on the stairs that lead up to the house her partner lives in. She wants to be patient, wants to sit still, and she hates the fact that she can't. That she starts to bite her lip after a while and picks her fingernails and starts to feel so disconcertingly female inside. 

He knows her, all right.

She thinks that however long this takes, it will most likely seem like the longest wait of her life.

*** *** ***

"Hey," he greets her and flops down beside her on the stairs, and Ziva jumps a little because she was so lost in her whirling thoughts that she didn't even notice him. She looks at him warily, and for a few moments he doesn't say anything, just watches her face and searches her eyes because, like her, he isn't quite sure what to expect. "What's up, pussycat?"

She feels the almost painful strumming of her pulse at his question. She knows it's a movie quote, but his words still echo between them, and for a moment she's not sure how or even where to begin. 

"Did you ever feel like you wanted something," she eventually says, hesitantly, "and then, when you got it, you suddenly found that it was just the foot of the iceberg of what you _really_ needed?"

"Tip," Tony interrupts her and tilts his head. Then he says, "Okay, let's get one thing out of the way." Ziva blinks, not sure what to say, not sure what's going on in his head now, and so she just looks at him until the corner of his mouth quirks up in the messy parody of a reassuring smile. "I think I'm in love with you." 

It takes a while until his words really sink in, and when they do, her eyes widen in sudden panic. She wants to run away suddenly. Wants to tell him he shouldn't love her, it won't be good for him, it'll break him and hurt him, because that's what happens to everyone who comes just a little too close. But before she can voice any of these sounds, Tony reaches out and puts his hand over hers, and that keeps her frozen to the spot. His fingers tighten and squeeze her hand when he feels the tension in her, and he lowers his gaze so she doesn't have to meet his eyes anymore.

"And no, I didn't go to see Wendy. I won't, and it doesn't matter how hard you push me away. Not even if you're here to tell me there's no way in hell we can get this sorted out."

She bites her lip again and wishes she had any words to hold back, but she doesn't. She just has an aching heart that beats too hard and too fast and a confused mind that stumbles all over itself and too many thoughts for her own good. And feelings. She has no idea what to reply to a statement of this magnitude, especially coming from him, and so she remains quiet and just stares down at his hand, still squeezing hers and refusing to let go.

"That's not why you're here, right?" he suddenly says, and Ziva flinches and looks up to meet his eyes.

"I don't know," she admits and takes a deep breath. "I talked to Lieutenant Reynolds's doctor today."

His gaze flicks up. His eyes are suddenly a heavy weight on her because the seemingly sudden jump in topics isn't one at all, and he's smart enough to know that. She knows, in turn, that he's waiting for her to spill it, to tell him what this is about, but her throat is all tight again, and it's suddenly incredibly hard to keep going. To keep putting into words what she wants and he probably doesn't and what they need to talk about anyway, just so they both know where they stand. Because assumptions didn't work too well before.

"About what?" he finally asks when she remains stuck, and that sends a soft shudder of defiance through her. 

She's not used to this -- to splitting herself wide open until she is at the mercy of someone's reaction. But if there's one person she owes this to, it's Tony. And he, more than anyone else, needs to know this if Ziva wants to have even the slightest chance of... sorting this out, as he called it. Fixing it.

"About... the fact that I think one day I would like to have a family. One that's more than just the man I l--love." She chokes on the word, and he pretends not to notice, and that's when her mind spins a little and she acknowledges for the very first time he might just be _that_ man. "And... and the fact this won't be exactly... easy in my case."

She falls silent and waits for his reaction, even though she is almost certain what kind of response she will get. She just skipped a few important steps in their relationship, after all -- even the very basic one of actually becoming a couple. She is way ahead of both of them, because she still isn't sure either of them is ready to even be with the other. And now, now she's already talking about being a parent and thinking about a future before the present is even settled, and the mere thought alone is more frightening than any gun pointed at her head ever was. 

She still has to do this, though. Has to figure this out and come to terms with what she wants and how she wants her life to be before it is too late.

Tony is quiet for a long while, and she's not sure what he thinks until he says, very gently, just to nudge her a little, "And what did the good doctor say?"

Her lips tighten before she can help it; her mouth turns into a thin line for a moment. Then she turns her head and chances a look at Tony, and to her surprise he isn't all that tense, and he's not angry, not annoyed. His eyes are wide, though, and she's pretty sure that right now he's just as nervous as she is, for just the same reasons.

He lowers his eyes and avoids meeting hers, and while his lips twitch and a soft smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, he looks down at their hands. Then he suddenly slides his fingers under hers, between them, so he really holds her hand now, and Ziva blinks and watches him do that quietly, at a loss for words.

"He says that I am most likely very lucky," she finally murmurs. The words are still hard to get out, even though she no longer feels quite as confused. "They used a method with... with clips instead of cu-- cutting anything, and that has the best chances of being reversed. The success rate is almost seventy percent."

"Huh," he says quietly, lost in thought. "That sounds pretty good." His thumb strokes the mound of her hand, and the sensation makes her heart flutter a little. God, he should really stop this. She can't think straight when he does it. "Did you make an appointment?"

"Uhm... not yet."

"You should."

"Tony," she says and takes a deep breath, and he reacts to the way she says his name and raises his eyes to look at her. He's so warm and soft suddenly, all smile and genuine affection, and her mind stumbles for a heartbeat. And yes, just like that she forgets she actually wants to scold him. 

Instead, she tilts her head and says with a confused little smile, "You do realize this was your cue to run screaming, yes?"

He barks out a round of laughter. Shakes his head. Smiles some more at her while he gives her a shrug. "Naw, sweetheart, you're too late for that. I faced my biggest fear already."

She's not sure what he means by that, but she doesn't get the chance to ask because he feels her hesitation and the way she's still torn between trust and love and the person she was not too long ago -- the woman who shut people out and never let them come close, for her own sake and theirs.

"Listen," he says and meets her eyes squarely. He tugs at her hand, and she knows he wants to say more, wants to say more things she's not ready to hear yet. And so, just this once, she is the one who takes action. Who leans towards him and presses her lips to his. She's almost a little desperate as she eats his mouth, and maybe she started this to shut him up at first. But then he returns the kiss, and his mouth is warm and soft, and he knows her so well that she can't help but fall for him, again.

His free hand comes up to her cheek now, slides to her neck, and she can't help the whimper that crawls out of her throat as he drags her closer. She's not sure how he does that -- how he conjures up a need in her that is almost frightening in its intensity, with just a simple touch like that. But it doesn't matter all that much, because she suddenly finds that she doesn't have the strength to fight this anymore, and she can't let all of these emotions go to waste. It's rare enough to have them, for someone like her. She might never get another chance.

She still tears her mouth from his, even though it takes an effort and even though his pulse is all over the place now, just like hers. And he doesn't really stop kissing her. He keeps running his lips along her cheek bones and presses soft butterfly kisses to her temple, until Ziva's head spins and she has to lean against his shoulder to steady herself.

"I'm sorry," she says, and he laughs and kisses her some more.

"For what? You want to run off again now?" he chuckles, but when she doesn't answer right away he pulls back and looks at her more closely. "Ziva, I swear, I will handcuff you to--"

"No!" She winces because his hand tightens around hers while he tenses up. He doesn't even realize it. "It's just... I didn't plan on this."

Tony sighs and pulls back so he can get a good look at her, and the way he searches her face suddenly makes her very nervous. "Doesn't mean we didn't need to talk about it," he says eventually.

For a moment she is confused by the double negative, but there's that smile he sometimes gives her, the one that's not his loud, intrusive charmer's smile, but rather the one that always seems to be just for her alone. The one that holds emotion and warmth and a bucketload of intimacy. It's that smile, really, that special intimacy more than anything else which assures her they will figure this out, eventually, even if it means more talking. 

And she realizes with a start she wants to figure it out. She's not sure about how this will play out, or what timeframe they are talking about or if they'll even talk about it at all or just do it at some point. Some point when they'll both know it's the right moment and the right year and the right amount of intimacy between them. 

Right now, though, she catches him staring at her mouth, lost in thought, and she thinks that maybe -- just maybe -- they can get a bit of the most urgent confusion sorted out right away by more kissing. Things always seem to be so much clearer when he kisses her. Much simpler.

It's like he heard that thought of hers louder than any words she could have uttered.

*** *** ***

It would have, as Tony likes to put it, scared the shit out of both of them if they had realized at that point it wouldn't even take them a year until the time was just right.

*** *** ***

The best laid schemes of Mice and Men  
oft go awry.

~ Robert Burns, "To a Mouse"


End file.
